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Mrs. Barnard I 


Hrs. Howard Lttcb 

Hiss Haroarbt Enioht 


•"I "I ? 


HniMrtiK<^ jrum I'fi'Uijraphs 





ADTHOB or "the flobxncb ot landob,"* "thb land ov 


And. nnder many a yellow itar. 
We dropped into the Mecio Lendl 

lUudrated ffwn Phciografhs 



CopsfTHlfU. 1907, 
Br Lrtli^ Bbown, asd CoiiPAHr* 

AB ri^Ui retened 


8. J. Pabkrill ft Co., BOSTOH, TT. t. , 



(fiaB. Fbamxloi Snoiom) 












^FoT Life ia ever lord of Deaih^ 
And Love can never loee iU own/* 



10 '2^JV0 



That Florence, the "Flower City," receives only a pass- 
ing aUusion in this record of various impressions that 
^eam and glow through the days after several visits to 
the Magic Land, is due to the fact that in a previous 
volume by the writer — one entitled "The Florence of 
Landor" — the lovely Tuscan town with its art, its 
ineffable beauty, and its choice social life, formed the 
subject matter of that volume. Any attempt to portray 
Flor^ice in the present book would savor only of the 
? repetition of loves and enthusiasms already recorded in 
the previous work in which Walter Savage Landor formed 
^ the central figure. For that reason no mention of Flor- 
I ence, beyond some mere allusion, is attempted in these 
{^ pBges, which only aim to present certain fragmentary 
impressions of various sojourns in Italy, refracted through 
the prism of memory. Whatever inconveniences or dis- 
comfort attend the travdler swiftly fade, and leave to him 
only the predous heritage of resplendent sunset skies, of 
poetic association, of artistic beauty. In spirit he is 
again lingering through long afternoons in St. Peter's 
tiU the golden light through the far windows of the 
tribune is merged into the dusk of twilight in which 
the vast monumental groups gleam wraith-like. Again 



he is asoending the magnificent Scala Regia^ and linger- 
ing in the Raphael Stanze, or in the wonderful sculpture 
galleries of the Vatican, or sauntering in the sunshine 
on the Palatine. In memory he is again spellbound by 
ancient and mediaeval art. In the line of modem 
sculpture the work of Franklin Simmons in Rome is 
a feature of Italy that haunts the imagination. No 
lover of beauty would willin^y miss his great studios 
in the Via San Nioolo da Tolentino» with their wealth of 
ideal creations that contribute new interest to the most 
divine of all the arts. 


The world of art is an ideal world, — - 

The world I love, and that I fain would live in; 

So speak to me of artists and of art. 

Of all the painters, sculptors, and musicians 

That now illustrate Borne.'* 

The mystic charm of the pilgrimage to Assisi; the 
romance that reflects itself in the violet seas and flaming 
splendors of the sky on the shores of Ischia and Capri; 
the buried treasures of Amalfi; the magnetic impressive* 
ness of the Eternal City, — all these enter into life as new 
forces to build and shape the future into undreamed-of 
destinies. j^ ^^ 




I The Period of Modebn Abt in Rome . . 8 

n Social Life m the Etebnal Citt .... 127 

EQ Dat-Dreams in Naples, Amalfi, and Capri 2127 

IV A Page de Conti from Ischia 281 

V Voices of St. Francis of Assisi 841 

VI The Glory of a Venetian Jxtne • • . . 889 

Vn The Magic Land 428 

Index •••••• 459 




Castd San Angdo and St. Peter's* Borne • . Frtmtitpiece 

Angel, Church of San Andrea delle Fratte, Rome Page 12 

Detail from the Stuart Monument, St Peter's, Rome ** 24 

Tomb of Qement Xin, St. Peter's, Rome .... *' S2 

The Genius of Death," DetaO from the Tomb 

of Clement XIU, St. Peter's, Rome '* 48 

La Fortuna," Accad^nia di San Luca, Rome . . ** 47 

Spanish Steps, Piazza Trinitk dei Monti, Rome . . ** 1% 

Tomb of Pio Nono, San Lorenzo (Fuori le Mura) 

Rome " 75 

"The Dance of the Pleiades " "92 

Grief and History," Detail from Naval Monument, 

Washington "105 

The Genius of Progress Leading the Nations" " 108 

"Mother of Moses" "112 

"VafleyForge" "116 

La Pieta, St. Peter's, Rome "120 

ViUa Medici, Rome "134 

Entrance to Villa Pamphilia-Doria, Rome .... " 159 

Statue of Christ, Ancient Church of San Martina, 

Rome "193 




Porta San Paola, Pyramid of Caius Cestius, Rome Page 216 

Castel Sant' Elmo, Naples ** ftSl 

Ancient Temple, Baiae '* 241 

Ischia, from the Sea *" 282 

La Booca, Iflchia *' 294 

Castello di Alfonso, Iflchia "^ S06 

Detail from ''Parnassus,*' Raphael Stanae, Palazso 

Vaticano, Rome "811 

Vittoria Colonna, Galleria Buonarotti, Florence . • *' 820 

San Francescan Conyent-Church, Assisi ** 846 

St Francis d' Assisi, The Duomo, Assisi ** 866 

Santa Chiara, The Duomo, Assisi '* 875 

Raise and Ischia, from Camaldoli '* 882 

Ruins of the Greek Theatre, Taormina, Sicily • • ** 429 

Ponte Veochio, Florence '* 484 

Campo Santo, Genoa "458 


^Red we tmdeid if whiapers from the etare 

In wafting of the incaleidable wind 

Came blown at midnight through our prUonrbars, 


By vxfodland belt, by ocean bar. 

The full south breeze our forehead farmed; 
And, under many a yeUow star. 

We dropped into the Magic Land. 

We heard, far-cff, the eiren*s eong; 

We caught the gleam of eearmaide* hair: 
The glimmering idee and rocks among 

We moved through sparkling purple air. 

Then Morning rose, and smote from far 
Her dfin harps o'er land and eea; 

And woodland bdt, and ocean bar 
To one swed note sighed — ^* Italy!** 

Owen Mxbkdith* 



But ah» that spring should yaniah with the RcMe! 
Hiat youth's sweet-scented manuscript should dose! 
The nightingale that in the bnmches sang. 
Oh, where and whither flown again, ^ who knows? 

Omab Khaytaii. 

RoME» as the picturesque city of the Popes in 
the middle years of the nineteenth century, was 
resplendent in local color. It was the Borne 
of sunny winters; the Rome of gay excursions 
over that haunted sea of the Campagna to 
pictorial points in the Alban and Sabine hills; 
the Rome of young artist life, which organized 
impromptu festas with Arcadian freedom, and 
utilized the shadow or the shelter of ruined 
temples or tombs in which to spread its picnic 
lunches and bring the glow of simple, friendly 
intercourse into the romantic lights of the 
poetic, historic, or tragic past. There were 
splendid Catholic processions and ceremonials 
that seemed organized as a part of the stage 
scenery that ensconced itself, also, with the 



nonchalance of easy possession, in the vast 
salons of historic palaces where tapestried walls 
and richly painted ceilings, arched high over- 
head, with statues dimly seen in niches here 
and there, and the bust of some crowned An- 
toninus, or radiant Juno, gleaming from^ a 
shadowy comer, all made up the mise-en-scene 
of familiar evenings. There were lingering 
hours in the gardens of the Villa Medici into 
whose shades one strolled by that beguiling 
path along the parapet on Monte Pincio, 
through the beautiful grove with its walks and 
fountains. The old ilex bosquet, with its 
tangled growth and air of complete seclusion, 
had its spell of fascination. Then, as now, the 
elevated temple, at the end of the main path, 
seemed the haunt of gods and muses. In all 
the incidental, as well as the ceremonial social 
meeting and mingling, art and religion were the 
general themes of discussion. This idyllic life -^ 

*' Comprehending, too, the aoul's 
And all the high necessities of art " — 

has left its impress on the air as well as its 
record on many a page of the poet and the 
romancist. The names that made memorable 



those wonderful days touch chords of associa- 
tion that still vibrate in the life of the hour. 
For the most part the artists and their asso- 
ciates have gone their way — not into a Silent 
Land, a land of shadows and vague, wander- 
ing ghosts — but into that realm wherein is the 
''life more abundant," of more intense energy 
and of nobler achievement ; the realm in which 
every aspiration of earth enlarges its concep- 
tion and every inspiration is exalted and en- 
dowed with new purpose; the realm where, as 
Browning says, — 

"Power comes in full play/* 

The poet's vision recognizes the truth: — 

*fl know there shall dawn a day, 
— Is it here on homely earth ? 
Is it yonder, worlds away. 

Where the strange and new have birth» 
That Power comes in full play?" 

The names of sculptor, painter, and poet 
throng back, imaged in that retrospective mirror 
which reflects a vista of the past, rich in ideal 
creation. Beautiful forms emei^ from the 
marble; pictorial scenes glow from the canvas; 
song and story and happy, historic days are in 



the very air. To Italy, land of romance and 
song, all the artists came trooping, and 

'fUnder many a ydlow Stai^ 

they dropped into the Magic Land. If the 
wraiths of the centuries long since dead walked 
the streets, th^ were quite welcome to revisit 
the glimpses of the moon and contribute their 
mysteiy to the general artistic e£Pectiveness of 
the Seven-hilled City- AU this group of Ameri- 
can idealists, from Allston and Page to Craw- 
ford, Story, Randolph Rogers, Yedder, Simmons, 
and to the latest comer of all, Charles Walter 
Stetson, recognized something of the artist's 
native air in this Mecca of their pilgrimage. 

It was, indeed, quite natural, on account of 
the stupendous work of Michael Angelo and 
the unrivalled museums of the Vatican^ that 
Rome should have become pre-eminently the 
artistic centre of the ninteenth century and 
should have attracted students and lovers of art 
from all parts of the world. The immortal 
works of the two great periods, the Greek and 
the Renaissance, — the art that was forever 
great because it was the outgrowth of profound 
religious conviction, — were enshrined in the 



churches and the galleries of Rome. The lead- 
ing countries of Europe sent here their aspiring 
students and established permanent academies 
for their residence. Germany, France, and 
England were thus represented. Thorwaldsen 
came as a pensioner from the Academy of Fine 
Arts in Copenhagen; and it was during his life, 
and that of the noble Canova, that Rome began 
to be recognized as the modem world-centre of 
art. Was it not a natural sequence that the 
early painters and sculptors who came to study 
under the stimulating influences of the great 
masterpieces of the past should linger on in 
the city whose very air became to them the 
breath of inspiring suggestion? Where but in 
Rome would have come to Crawford the vision 
of his "Orpheus" and of his noble Beethoven? 
or to Story his ** Libyan Sibyl, " and that exqui- 
site group, " Into the Silent Land " ? or to Vedder 
his marvellous creations of "The Fates Gather- 
ing in the Stars," the -"Cumaean Sibyl," or the 
" Dance of the Pleiades " ? to Simmons his tri- 
umphant "Angel of the Resurrection," and 
"The Genius of Progress Leading the Na- 
tions"? or to Stetson that ineffable vision of 
"The Child," and that wonderful group called 


"Music"? whose coloring Titian or Giorgione 
might well mistake for their own. 

Under the Pontifical regime the general char- 
acter of Rome was mediaeval and religious. 
The perpetual festas of the church made the 
streets constantly picturesque with their proces- 
sions of monks, and friars, and priests, and 
these wonderful blendings of color and scenic 
effect stimulated the artistic sense. The ex- 
penses of living in Rome were then only a frac- 
tion of what the cost is at the present time; and 
as the city was the resort of the wealthy and 
cultured few, the artists were^surrounded by the 
stimulus of critical appreciation and of patron- 
age. Their work, their dreams, were the theme 
of literary discussion, and focussed the attention 
of the polite world. Their studios were among 
the important interests to every visitor in the 
Eternal City. In those days the traveller did 
not land with his touring car at Naples, make 
*Hhe run" to Rome in a record that distanced 
any possibilities of railroad trains, pass two or 
three days in motoring about the city and its 
environs, seeing the exterior of everything in a 
dissolving view and the interior of nothing, — 
as within this time, at least, he must flash on 



in his touring car to Florence. On the con- 
trary, the traveller proceeded to Rome with 
serious deliberation, and with a more realizing 
sense of undertaking a journey than Walter 
Wellman experiences in attempting to fly in 
his aero-car to the North Pole and send his 
observations across the polar seas by wireless 
telegraphy. The visitor went to Rome for a 
winter, for a year, and gave himself up to 
leisurely impressions. Rome was an atmos- 
phere, not a spectacle, and it was to be entered 
with the lofty and reverent appreciation of the 
poet's power and the artist's vision. 

In Rome, Thomas Cole painted some of his 
best pictures; and in Rome or Florence wrought 
a long list of painters and sculptors. Whether 
in the Eternal City or in the Flower City, their 
environment was alike Italy — the environment of 
the Magic Land. Among the more prominent 
of all these devotees of Beauty several nationali- 
ties were represented. Each might have said of 
his purpose, in the words of William Watson:— 


I follow Beauty; of her train am I, 

Beauty, whose voice is earth and sea and air; 
Who serveth, and her hands for all things ply; 

Who reigneth, and her throne is everywhere." 



Among these artists there flash upon memory 
the names of Vanderlyn, Benjamin West, AU- 
ston. Ranch, Ange, Veit, Tenerani, Overbeck, 
Schadow, Horace Vemet, Thorwaldsen, John 
Gibson, Hiram Powers, Crawford, Page, Clark 
Mills, Randolph Rogers, William Rinehart, 
Launt Thompson, Horatio and Richard Green- 
ough, Thomas Ball, Anne Whitney, Larkin G. 
Mead, Paul Akers, William Wetmore Story, 
Harriet Hosmer, J. Rollin Tilton, and, later, 
Elihu Vedder, Moses Ezekiel, Franklin Sim- 
mons, Augustus St. Gaudens, and Charles 
Walter Stetson, the name of Mr. Stetson linking 
the long and interesting procession with the 
immediate life of to-day. Of these later artists 
Story, Miss Hosmer, Ezekiel, Vedder, Simmons, 
and Stetson are identified with Rome as being 
either their permanent or their prolonged resi- 
dence. Mr. St. Gaudens was a transient stu- 
dent, returning to his own country to pursue 
his work; and of two young sculptors, Hendrick 
Christian Anderson and C. Percival Dietsch, 
time has not yet developed their powers beyond 
an experimental stage of brilliant promise. 

The Rome of the artists of clay and canvas 
was also the Rome of the poets and romancists, 




of authors in all lines of literaiy achievement. 
How the names of the procession of visitors and 
sojourners in the Eternal City, from Milton, 
Goethe^ and Mme. de Stael to Henry James, 
Marion Crawford, Richard Bagot, and Grace 
Ellery Channing (Mrs. Charles Walter Stetson), 
gleam from that resplendent panorama of the 
modem past of Rome! Like the words in 
electric fire that flash out of the darkness in 
city streets at night, there shine the names of 
Shelley and of Keats; of Gladstone, on whom 
in one memorable summer day, while strolling 
in Italian sunshine, there fell a vision of the 
sacredness and the significance of life and its 
infinite responsibility in the fulfilment of lofty 
purposes. What charming associations these 
guests and sojourners have left behind! Haw- 
thorne, embodying in immortal romance the 
spirit of the scenic greatness of the Eternal 
City; Margaret Fuller, Marchesa d'Ossoli, ally- 
ing herself in marriage with the country she 
loved, and living in Rome those troubled, 
mysterious years that were to close the earthly 
chapter of her life; Robert and Elizabeth 
Browning, the wedded poets, who sang of love 
and Italy; Harriet Beecher Stowe, finding on 




the enchanted Italian shores the material which 
she wove with such irresistible attraction into 
the romance of "Agnes of Sorrento;" Long- 
Mow, with his poet's vision, transmuting everjr 
vista and impression into some exquisite lyric; 
Lowell, bringing his philosophic as well as his 
poetic insight to penetrate the untold meaning 
of Rome; Thomas William Parsons, making the 
country of Dante fairly his own; Thackeray, 
with his brilliant interpretation of the comedie 
humaine; Emerson, who, oblivious of all the 
glories of art or the joys of nature, absorbed 
himself in writing transcendental letters to his 
eccentric, but high-souled aunt, Mary Moody 
Emerson; Ruskin, translating Italian art to 
Italy herself; Dr, Samuel Gridley Howe and 
his poet wife, Mrs. Julia Ward Howe, in the 
first flush of their bridal happiness, when Mrs. 
Howe's impassioned love for the Seven-hilled 
City inspired many a lyric that mirrors the 
Roman atmosphere of that day; Kate Field, 
with a young girl's glad enthusiasm over the 
marvellous loveliness of a Maytime in Rome, 
and her devotion to those great histrionic 
artists, Ristori and Salvini; George Stillman 
Hillard, leaving to literature the rich legacy of 


GiovBDni Lorenzo Bernini 
Pagt St 



liis **Six Months in Italy," — a work that to 
this day holds precedence as a clear and com- 
prehensive presentation of the scenic beauty, 
the notable monumental and architectural art, 
and the general life and resources of this land 
of painter and poet. Other names, too, throng 
upon memory — that of William Dean Howells, 
painting Italian life in his "Venetian Days," 
and charming all the literary world by his 
choice art; and among later work, the interest- 
ing interpretations of Rome and of social life 
in Rome, by Marion Crawford, Henry James, 
and Richard Bagot, — in chronicle, in romance, 
or in biographical record. During the last 
quarter of the nineteenth century, indeed, the 
visitors to Rome — authors, artists, travellers of 
easy leisure — defy any numerical record. Mrs. 
Louise Chandler Moulton, poet, romancist, and 
delightful raconteur as well, has recorded some 
charming impressions of her various sojourns 
in Rome both in her "Random Rambles" and 
in "Lazy Tours." Of the Palatine Hill we 
find her saying: — 

"Sometimes we go to the Palace of the 
Caesars, and look off upon the heights where 



the snow lingers and the warm light rests, 
making them shine like the Delectable Moun-- 
tains. Nearer at hand are the almond trees, 
in flower, or the orange trees, bright at once 
with their white, sweet blossoms and their 
golden fruit." 


Mrs. Moulton writes of the "stately dwellers'* 
in Rome whom time cannot change; and to 
whom, whenever she returns, she makes her 
first visit; some of whom are in the mighty 
palace of the Vatican and some of whom dwell 
in state in the Capitol. 

"The beautiful Antoninus still wears his 
crown of lotus in Villa Albani and the Juno 
whom Goethe worshipped reigns forever at the 
Ludovisi," she writes; "I can never put in 
words the pleasure I find in these immortals." 
Mrs. Moulton loved to wander in the Villa 
Borghese "before the place is thronged with 
the beauty and fashion of Rome as it is in the 
late afternoon. I do not wonder that Miriam 
and Donatello could forget their fate in these 
enchanted glades," she wrote, "and dance as 
the sunbeams danced with the shadows. Some- 



times I seem to see them where the sun sifts 
through the young green leaves, and her beauty 
— her human, deep-souled beauty — and his 
fantastic grace are the only things here that 
cannot change. 

**The walls will crumble; the busts of kings 
and heroes and poets will lose their contours, 
the lovely Roman ladies also grow old and 
fade, and vanish from sight and from memory; 
but still these two, hopeless yet happy, will 
dance in these wild glades immortally beyond 
the reach of the effacing years." 

The visit to Rome of the Rev. Dr. Phillips 
Brooks — later the Bishop of Massachusetts — 
is immortalized in the most lifelike portrait 
bust of the great preacher ever modelled; a 
bust in which the genius of the sculptor, Frank- 
lin Simmons, found one of its noblest expres- 
sions, and has perpetuated, with masterly 
power, the energy of thought, at once profound 
and intense, in the countenance of Bishop 
Brooks. These, and many another whom the 
gods have loved and dowered with gifts, rise 
before any retrospective glance over the com- 
paratively recent past of Rome. Bishop Brooks 



passed there the Holy Week of one Lenten 
season, and of the Miserere in the Sistine 
Chapel he wrote that it was certainly the most 
wonderful music to which he had ever listened; 
and he added: — 

**The Miserere in the Sistine, the Benedic- 
tion from the balcony, the solemn moment of 
the elevation of the Host on Easter, and the 
illumination of St. Peter's, these all seem to 
reach very remarkably the great ideal of the 
central reUgious commemoration of Christen- 

It was in the winter of 1828 that Mr. Long- 
fellow first visited Rome, which "is announced," 
he wrote, "by Nero's tomb," and he quotes 
Dupaty's lines: — 

'Quoif c'est Uk Rome? quoif 

Cert le tombeau de Neron qui rannonoe.' 

Mr. Longfellow expressed his love for the 
Eternal City, and in a personal letter^ he 
said: — 

^ Henry Wadfworth Longfdlow: HoogfatcMi, Mifflm ft Co. 



''I have been so delighted with Rome that I 
have extended my residence much beyond my 
original intention. There is so much in the 
city to delay the stranger; the villages in the 
environs are so beautiful, and there is such a 
quiet and stillness about everything that, were 
it in my power, I should be induced to remain 
the whole year round. You can imagine noth- 
ing equal to the ruins of Rome. The Forum 
and the Coliseum are beyond all I had ever 
fancied them; and the ruined temples and 
the mouldering aqueducts which are scattered 
over the Campagna; I do not believe there is a 
finer view in the world than that from the 
eastern gate of the city, embracing the Cam- 
pagna, with its ruined aqueducts diverging in 
long broken arcades, and terminated by the 
sweep of the Albanian hills, sprinkled with their 
white villages, and celebrated in song and story! 
But the great charm of the scene springs from 
association; and though everything in Italy is 
really picturesque, yet strip the country of its 
historic recollections, — think merely of what 
it is, and not of what it has been, — and you will 
find the dream to be fading away. 

"You would be shocked at the misery of the 



people, especially in the Pope's dominions: but 
their element seems to be in rags and misery; 
and with the ceremonials of their religion and 
the hohdays of the church, which average nearly 
three a week, they are poor — and lazy and 
happy. I mean, happy in their way." 

In a later visit the poet was domiciled in an 
hotel on the Piazza Barberini, where the wonder- 
ful view included then the entire city "to where 
St. Peter's dome darkens against the sunset." 
Of this visit his brother, Rev. Samuel Long- 
fellow, writes: — 

"Here Mr. Longfellow became for the season 
the centre of the group of American visitors 
and resident artists, whose well-known names 
need not be recounted. Here he made, also, 
acquaintances among the Italians, — especially 
the Duke of Sermoneta, the Dantean scholar, 
and Monsignore Nardi, of the papal court. 
The Pope himself he did not visit. An inter- 
esting acquaintance was that made with the 
Abb^ Liszt, who was spending the winter in 
Rome, having rooms in the abandoned Con- 
vent of Santa Francesca, in the Forum. Call- 



ing there one evening, in company with Mr. 
Healy the artist, the inner .door of the apartment 
was opened to them by Liszt himself, holding 
high in his hand a candle which illuminated his 
fine face. The picture was so striking that Mr. 
Longfellow begged his companion to put it 
upon canvas, — which he did ; and the paint- 
ing now hangs in the library of Craigie House. 
At a morning visit, Liszt delighted the party 
with a performance upon his Chickering piano- 

'*To see Rome, as all travellers know, is a 
work for many months ; and it was pursued with 
tolerable diligence. But Mr. Longfellow was 
never a good sight-seer. He was impatient of 
lingering in picture galleries, churches, or ruins. 
He saw quickly the essential points, and soon 
tired of any minuter examination." 

But long, indeed, before nineteenth-century 
artists and authors laid siege to the Eternal 
City, in the far-away years of 1688, Milton 
visited Rome, and there still remains the tablet, 
on the wall of the casa in the Via delle Quattre 
Fontane in which he stayed, a tablet bearing 
an inscription giving the date of his visit; as, 



also, in Via Machella, there is an inscription 
marking the place where Scott lived during his 
visit to Rome. Goethe made his memorable 
tour to Italy in 1786 — fourteen years before the 
dawn of the nineteenth century — and wrote: 
^^I feel the greatest longing to read Tacitus 
in Rome;" and again (an observation with 
which every visitor to the Eternal City will 
sympathize) he noted: — 

**It grows more and more difficult for me to 
render an account of my residence in Rome, for 
as we always find the sea deeper the further we 
go, so it is with me in observation of this 
city. . . . Wherever we go and wherever we 
stand, we see about us a finished picture, — 
forms of every kind and style; palaces and 
ruins; gardens and wastes; the distant and the 
near houses; triumphal arches and colunms, — 
often all so close together that they might be 
sketched on a single sheet. One should have a 
thousand points of steel with which to write, 
and what can a single pen do ? and then in the 
evening one is weary and exhausted with the 
day of seeing and admiring. Here one reads 
history from within outward." 



Chateaubriand, who in his earliest youth 
had visited America as the guest of Washing- 
ton, passed the winter of 1803-4 in Rome, and 
his pictorial transcriptions of the city and its 
environs are among the most exquisite things 
in literary record. As, for instance, this de- 
scription of a sunset from Monte Mario : — 

"I was never weary of seeing, from the Villa 
Borghese, the sun go down behind the cypresses 
of Monte Mario, and the pines of the Villa 
Pamphili planted by Le Notre. I have stood 
upon the Fonte Molle to enjoy the sublime 
spectacle of the close of day. The summits of 
the Sabine hills appeared of lapis lazuli and 
pale gold, while their bases and sides were 
bathed in vapors of violet or purple. Some- 
times lovely clouds, like fairy cars, borne along 
by the evening wind with inimitable grace, recall 
the mythological tales of the descent of the 
deities of Olympus. Sometimes old Rome 
seems to have spread all over the west the 
purple of her consuls and her Caesars, beneath 
the last steps of the god of day. This rich 
decoration does not vanish so quickly as in our 
climate. When we think the hues are about 



to disappear they revive on some other point of 
the horizon; one twilight follows another and 
the magic of sunset is prolonged/' 

It was in the same year that Mme. de Stael 
visited Rome and recorded, in her glowing 
romance, "Corinne," the impressions she re- 
ceived. In the spring of 1817 Lord Byron 
found in Rome the inspiration that he trans- 
mitted into that wonderful line in *'Childe 
HaroW: — 


The Niobe of Nations! There ihe stands.* 

It was two years later that Shelley passed 
the spring in the Seven-hilled City, retiring to 
Leghorn later, to write his tragedy of "The 

In Rome the visitor follows Michael Angelo 
and Raphael through the various churches and 
museums. The celebrated sibyls of Raphael are 
in the Santa Maria della Pace; his "Isaiah" is in 
San Agostino and his "Entombment" in the 
Casino of the Villa Borghese. While the sub- 
lime work of Michael Angelo in the Sistine 
Chapel is always one of the fimst things in Rome 


to which the traveller goes to study that incom- 
parable work portraying the Creation — the 
Prophets and the Sibyls, the Angels and the 
Genii, that record the impassioned power of 
the master — yet all footsteps turn quickly, too, 
to the church called San Pietro in Vincoli, near 
the house in which Lucrezia Borgia lived, in 
which is the colossal Moses of Michael Angelo. 
As it stands, it fails to convey the first design 
of the great sculptor. Originally intended for 
the tomb of Pope Julius II, the plan included 
a massive block of marble (some forty by twenty 
feet) surmounted by a cornice and having its 
niches, its columns, and its statues, of which 
the Moses was to have been one. It would 
then have been judged relatively to the entire 
group, while now it is seen alone, and thus out 
of the proportions that were in the mind of the 
artist. The entire conception, indeed, was to 
unite sculpture and architecture into one splen- 
did combination. **Thus the statue of Moses 
was meant to have been raised considerably 
above the eye of the spectator,*' writes Mr. 
Hillard, "and to have been a single object in a 
colossal structure of architecture and sculpture, 
which would have had a foreground and a 



background, and been crowned with a mass at 
once dome-like and pyramidal. Tom, as it is, 
from its proper place; divorced from its pro- 
portionate companionship; stuck against the 
wall of a church; and brought face to face with 
the observer, — what wonder that so many of 
those who see it turn away with no other im- 
pressions than those of caricature and exaggera- 
Mr. HiUard adds : — 

*'But who that can appreciate the subUme 
in art will fail to bow down before it as 
embodied in this wonderful statue? The ma- 
jestic character of the head, the prodigious 
muscles of the chest and arms, and the beard 
that flows like a torrent to the waist, rep- 
resent a being of more than mortal port and 
power, speaking with the authority, and frown- 
ing with the sanctions of incarnate law. The 
drapery of the lower part of the figure is inferior 
to the anatomy of the upper part. Remarkable 
as the execution of the statue is, the expression 
is yet more so; for notwithstanding its colossal 
proportions, its prominent characteristic is the 
embodiment of intellectual power. It is the 



Antonio Canova 



great leader and lawgiver of his people that we 
see, whose voice was command, aud whose out- 
stretched arm sustained a nation's infant steps. 
He looks as if he might control the energies of 
nature as well as shape the mould in which the 
character of his people should be formed. That 
any one should stand before this statue in a 
scoffing mood is to me perfectly inexplicable. 
My own emotions were more nearly akin to 
absolute bodily fear. At an irreverent word, I 
should have expected the brow to contract into 
a darker frown, and the marble lips to unclose 
in rebuke." 

William Watson condenses his impressions of 
this majestic sculpture in the following quat- 
rain. — 


The captain's might, and mystery of the seer— - 

Remoteness of Jehovah's colloquist. 
Nearness of man's heaven-advocate — are here: 

Alone Mount Nebo's harsh foreshadow is miss'd.'* 

The impressive group of sculptures and build- 
ings on the Campidoglio — where once the 
shrine of Jupiter Capitolinus stood — owes its 
present picturesque scheme largely to Michael 
Angelo. The fascination of the long flights of 



steps leading from the Piazza Aracoeli to the 
Capitoline, where the ancient bronze equestrian 
statue of Marcus Aurelius forever keeps guard, 
is indescribable. The historic statues of Castor 
and Pollux mark the portals; on either hand 
there are seen the Muses of ancient sculpture, 
the Palazzo Sentoriale and the Palazzo del 
Conservatore. There is in the entire world 
no more classic ground than is found in this 
impressive grouping of art and architecture. 

The genius of Raphael has recorded itself in 
those brilliant and imperishable works that en- 
thrall the student of art in the Raphael stanze in 
the Vatican. He was imbued with the spirit 
of Greek art, and while Titian is a greater color- 
ist, while Correggio, Botticelli, Perugino, and 
other artists that could be named equal or ex- 
ceed Raphael in certain lines, yet as the inter- 
preter of the profoundest thought, and for his 
philosophic grasp and his power to endow his 
conceptions with the most brilliant animation, 
he stands alone. The religious exaltation of 
"The Transfiguration" reveab the supreme de- 
gree of the divine genius of Raphael. That 
this painting was the last work of his life, that 
it was placed above his body as it lay in state, 



and was carried in his funeral procession, invests 
it with peculiar interest. 

As a draftsman Raphael was second only to 
Michael Angelo, with whom he must forever 
share the immortality of fame. The Academy 
in Venice holds some of his choicest drawings, 
and in the Venetian sketch-book in the Na- 
tional Gallery in London are many of his small 
pictures, including that of the ^^ Knight's 

It was in the autumn of 1508, when Raphael 
was in his twenty-fifth year, that he was called 
to Rome in the service of the Pope. The Pon- 
tiff at this time was Pope Julius II, whose suc- 
cessor was Leo X, and under their pontificates 
(from 1508 to 1520) Raphael produced these 
masterpieces which stand unrivalled in the world 
save by the creations of Michael Angelo in the 
Capella Sistina. The celebrated **Four Sibyb" 
of Raphael are not, however, in the stanze of 
the Vatican, but in the Church of San Maria 
della Pace. In the Palazzo Vaticano these four 
wonderful stanze entrance the visitor; the 
Stanza della Signatura, the Stanza d'Eliodoro, 
the Stanza della Incendio and the Sala di Con- 



For the decoration of these stanze several 
painters from Umbria had been summoned, — 
Perugino, Sodoma, Signorelli, and others; but 
when Raphael had produced the "Disputa" in 
the Sala della Signatura, Pope Julius 11 recog- 
nized the work as so transcendent that he 
ordered the other artists to cease and even had 
some of their paintings obliterated that there 
might be more space for the exercise of 
Raphael's genius. In the *' Disputa " are glorified 
the highest expressions of the human intellect 
— the domain portrayed being that of Theol- 
ogy, Philosophy, Poetry, and Justice. The 
splendor of this creation transcends all attempts 
of interpretation in language. Against a back- 
ground of gold mosaic are portrayed these typ- 
ical figures enthroned on clouds where genii flit 
to and fro bearing tablets with inscriptions. 
Theology holds in the left hand a book, while 
the other points to the vision of angels; Poetry, 
laurel-crowned, is seen seated on a throne 
with books and lyre; Philosophy wears a dia- 
dem, and Justice, with her balance and her 
sword, is abo crowned. The title of this mar- 
vellous work is misleading. Its message is 
not that of disputation but of beatitude. 


At the altar are grouped the congregation; 
the mystic spell of heavenly enthusiasm en- 
folds the scene as an atmosphere, as above 
the heavens open and the glorified Christ, 
surrotmded by the saints who have kept the 
faith, is disclosed to the devotees kneeling 
below, while a choir of listening angels bend 
over them from the distant clouds in the back- 

Under Poetry are grouped Apollo and the 
Muses, and the figures of Homer, Dante and 
Virgil, of Petrarcha, Anacreon and Sappho, of 
Pindar and of Horace are recognized. The great 
scholars seen in the Philosophy include Plato 
and Aristotle, while in the groups under Justice, 
Moses and Solon are seen. 

'* Raphael seems to' have never known 
despair,'' remarked Franklin Simmons of the 
work of this divine genius. ^'His paintings re- 
veal no struggle, but seem to have been pro- 
duced without effort, as if brought into exist- 
ence by an enchanter's wand." 

No observation could more vividly interpret 
the wonderful effect produced on the student 
by Raphael, and he cannot but recall the truth 
expressed in these lines of Festus : — 



thus were all worthy standards lowered to per- 
nicious levels. 

A sculptor who left his impress upon the 
sixteenth-century art was Lorenzo Bernini, a 
Neapolitan (bom in 1598) who died in Rome 
in 1685. The work of Bernini has a certain 
fascination and airy touch that, while it some- 
times degenerates into the merely fantastic and 
even into tawdry and puerile affectations, has 
at its best a refinement and grace that lend to 
his sculptures an enduring charm, as seen in 
his "Apollo and Daphne" (a work executed 
in his eighteenth year) which is now in the 
Casino of the Villa Borghese. Bernini's name 
is perpetuated in the colossal statues on the 
colonnade of St, Peter's, the great bronze 
angels with their draperies streaming to the 
winds on the Pont San Angelo, and in the vast 
fountain in the Piazza Navona. In the court 
of the Palazzo Bernini is one of the most 
interesting of his works — a colossal figure, 
allegorical in significance, illustrating "Truth 
Brought to Light by Time." One of the most 
important works of Bernini — now placed in 
the Music Nazionale — is the group of "Pluto 
and Proserpine." 

Aatonio Canova 



The influence that was to reform and regen- 
erate the art of sculpture in the sixteenth cen- 
tury came with the great and good Canova, with 
which was united that of Flaxman and of Thor- 
waldsen. The heavenly messengers are always 
sent and appear at the time they are most 
needed. Neither Truth nor Art is ever left 
without a witness. 


God sends his teachers unto every age» 
To every dime, and every race of men. 
With revelations fitted to their growth 
I And shape of mind; nor gives the realm of truth 

Into the selfish rule of one sole race." 

Canova's genius and services were widely 
recognized. In 1719 he was made a Senator; 
he was ennobled with the title of Marchese of 
Ischia and granted a yearly allowance of three 
thousand scudi; and his noble and generous 
enthusiasms, not less than his genius, have left 
their record on life as well as on art. When he 
died (in Venice, Oct. S, 1822) his work in- 
cluded fifty-nine statues, fourteen groups, 
twenty-two monuments, and fifty-four busts. 
The statue of Pius V and the tomb of Clement 
Xin are his greatest works, and the latter is 



perhaps even increasingly held as a master- 
piece of the ages. 

Canova, warned by the fatal influence of 
imitation in art in the sixteenth century, fre- 
quently counselled his pupils against copying 
his own style and constantly urged them to study 
from the Greeks. He advised them to visit 
frequently the studios of other artists, "and 
especially," he would add, "the studios of 
Thorwaldsen, who is a very great artist." 

In the early part of the nineteenth century 
contemporary sculpture in Rome was led by 
the three great artists, — Canova, Thorwaldsen, 
and Gibson. In 1829 Gibson had the honor of* 
being elected a member of the Accademia di 
San Luca in place of the sculptor Massimiliano, 
who had then just died. Cammuccini, the his- 
torical painter, proposed Gibson, and with the 
ardent assistance of Thorwaldsen he was 
elected resident Academician of merit. "Like 
Canova, Thorwaldsen was most generous to 
young artists," says Gibson of the great Danish 
master, "and he freely visited all who required 
his advice. I profited greatly by the knowl- 
edge which this splendid sculptor had of his 
art. On eveiy occasion when I was modelling 



a new work he came to me, and corrected what- 
ever he thought amiss. I also often went to 
his studio and contemplated his glorious works, 
always in the noblest style, full of pure and 
severe simplicity. His studio was a safe school 
for the young, and was the resort of artists and 
lovers of art from all nations. The old man's 
person can never be forgotten by those who 
saw him. Tall and strong, — he never lost a 
tooth in his life, — he was most venerable look- 
ing. His kind countenance was marked with 
hard thinking, his eyes were gray, and his 
white locks lay upon his broad shoulders. At 
great assemblies his breast was covered with 

Thorwaldsen (bom in Copenhagen, Nov. 19, 
1770) went to Rome in 1797 — sent by the 
government of Denmark as a pensioner. It is 
said that, in his enthusiasm for Rome, Thorwald- 
sen dated his birth from the hour he entered 
the Eternal City. "Before that day," he ex- 
claimed, "I existed; I did not live." For 
nearly fifty years — until his death in 1844 — 
he lived and worked in Rome, occupying at 
one time the studio in Via Babuino that had 
formerly been that of Flaxman. 



John Gibson, who went to Borne in 1817, — 
twenty years after Thorwaldsen first arrived, 
— had the good fortune to be for five years a 
pupil of Canova, whose death in 1822 termi- 
nated this inestimable privilege. The eleva- 
tion of purpose that characterized the young 
English student made his progress and de- 
velopment a matter of peculiar interest to the 
master. Gibson, also, bears his testimony to 
the stimulus of the Roman environment. 
"Rome above all other cities," he says, "has 
a peculiar influence upon and charm for the 
real student; he feels himself in the very uni- 
Tersity of art, where it b the one thmg talked 
about and thought about. Constantly did I 
feel the presence of this influence. Every 
morning I rose with the sun, my soul glad- 
dened by a new day of a happy and delightful 
pursuit; and as I walked to my breakfast at 
the Caffe Greco and watched with new pleas- 
ure the tops of the churches and palaces gilt 
by the morning sun, I was inspired with a 
sense of daily renovated youth, and fresh en- 
thusiasm, and returned joyfully to the combat, 
to the invigorating strife with the difficulties 
of art. Nor did the worm of envy creep round 



my heart whenever I saw a beautiful idea skil- 
fully executed by any of my young rivals, but 
constantly spurred on by the talent around me 
I returned to my studio with fresh resolution/' 
Again to a friend Gibson writes : — 

" I renewed my visits to the Vatican, refresh- 
ing my spirits in that Pantheon of the gods, 
demigods, and heroes of Hellas. ... In the 
art of sculpture the Greeks were gods. • • • 
In the Vatican we go from statue to statue, 
from fragment to fragment, like the bee from 
flower to flower." 

These five years in which Canova, Thorwald- 
sen, and Gibson lived and wrought together — 
although the youngest of this trio was still in 
his student life — form a definite period in 
the history of modem art in Rome. The 
dreams, the enthusiasm, the devotion to ideal 
beauty which characterized their work left its 
impress and its vitality of influence — a mystic 
power ready to incarnate itself again through 
the facility of expression of the artists yet to 
come. To the young men whose steps were 
turned toward Rome in these early years of 



the century just passed, how great was the 
privilege of coining into close range of the 
influence of such artists as these ; to study their 
methods; to hear the expression of their views 
on art in familiar meeting and conversation I 
These artists were closely in touch with that 
''lovely and faithful dream which came with 
Italian Renaissance in the works of Pisani, 
Mino di Fiesole, Donatello, Michael Angelo, 
and Giovanni da Bologna — all who caught 
the spirit of Greek art." Artistic truth was 
the keynote of the hour, and it is this truth 
which is the basis of the highest conception 
of life. 

''Art's a service, — mark: 
A silver key is given to thy dasp 
And thou shalt stand unwearied night and day^ 
And fix it in the hard, slow-turning wards 
To open, so that intermediate door 
Betwixt the different planes of sensuous form 
And form insensuous, that inferior men 
May learn to feel on still through these to those. 
And bless thy ministration. The world waits for help.** 

In their true relation art and ethics meet in 
their ministry to humanity, for only in their 
union can they best serve man. All the nobler 



culture has its responsibility in service. "Many 
a man has a blind notion of stewardship about 
his property, but very few have it about their 
knowledge," said Bishop Phillips Brooks, and 
he added: "One grows tired of seeing culti- 
vated people with all their culture cursed by 
selfishness." To the true idealist — as distinct 
from the mere emotionalist with aesthetic tastes 
— selfishness is an impossible prison. The only 
spiritual freedom lies in the perpetual sharing 
of the fuller life. The gift shared is the gift 
doubled. Art is the spiritual glory of life; the 
supreme manifestation, the very influence of 
spiritual achievement. Mr. Stillman, discuss- 
ing the revival of art, has questioned: "Does 
the world want art any longer? Has it, 
in the present state of human progress, any 
place which will justify devotion to it ? " 
He questions as to whether man is still 

"Apparelled in celestial ligbt»" 

or whether he has lost "the glory and the fresh- 
ness*' of his dreams. 

"No one can admit," continues Mr. Still- 
man, "that the human intellect is weaker than 



it was five or twenty centuries ago; but it is 
certain that if we take the pains to study what 
was done five centuries ago in painting, or 
twenty centuries ago in sculpture, and com- 
pare it with the best work of to-day, we shall 
find the latter trivial and 'prentice work com- 
pared with the ordinary work of men whose 
names are lost in the lustre of a school. 

"Then, little men inspired by the Zeitgeist, 
painted greatly; now, our great men fail to 
reach the technical achievement of the little 
men of them. There is only one living painter 
who can treat a portrait as a Venetian artist 
of 1550 A.D. would have done it, and how 
differently in the mastery of his material! If 
we go to the work of wider range, the Campo 
Santo of Pisa, the Stanze, the Sistine Chapel, 
the distance becomes an abyss; the simplest 
fragment of a Greek statue of 450 B.C. shows 
us that the best sculpture of this century, even 
the French, is only a happy child-work, not 
even to be put in sight of Donatello or Michael 
Angelo. The reason is simple, and already 
indicated. The early men grew up in a system 
in which the power of expression was taught 
from childhood; they acquired method as the 



musician does now, and the tendency of the 
opinion of their time was to keep them in the 
good method/' 

Is this not too narrow and sweeping a judg- 
ment ? The art of portraiture certainly did not 
die with the Venetian painters of 1550, how- 
ever great their work; and if there be but "one 
living painter" who can treat portrait art like 
the early Venetians, there are scores of artists 
who achieve signal success by other methods of 

At all events, these three men, Canova, Thor- 
waldsen, and Gibson, worked with the convic- 
tion that art is service. With Victor Hugo, 
Canova could have said: "Genius is not made 
for genius; it is made for men. • . . Let him 
have wings for the infinite provided he has feet 
for the earth, and that, after having been seen 
flying, he is seen walking. After he has been 
seen an archangel, let him be still more a 
brother. , . . To be the servant of God in 
the march of progress — such is the law which 
regulates the growth of genius." 

They worked and taught by this creed. 
Thorwaldsen, on first arriving in Rome, wan- 



dered for three years, it is said, among the 
statues of gods and heroes, like a man in a 
dream. The atmosphere of the earlier day 
when Titian was employed by the king of 
Spain and Raphael by the Pope to create works 
of great public importance still lingered and 
exerted over Thorwaldsen, and over all artists 
susceptible to its subtle influence, a peculiar 
spell. Its power was revealed in his subse- 
quent works — the "Christ;" the sculptured 
groups for tombs in St. Peter's and in other 
churches; the poetic reliefs symbolizing **Day" 
and "Night;" "Ganymede Watering the 
Eagle;" the "Three Graces," "Hebe," and 
many others. 

Among Canova's works his inmiortal master- 
piece is the monumental memorial group for 
the tomb of Pope Clement XTTT in St. Peter's. 
The Pope is represented as kneeling in prayer. 
The modelling of the entire figure is instinct 
with expression. The fine and beautiful hands 
express reverence and trust. The countenance 
is pervaded with that peace only known to the 
soul that is in complete harmony with the 
divine power. The Holy Father has taken the 
tiara from his head and it lies before him on 


Antonio Cano' 
Pngi 4S 


the cushion on which he kneels. Although the 
entire portrayal of the figure reveals that devo- 
tion expressed in the solemn and searching words 
of the church service, "And here we oflFer and 
present unto thee, O Lord, ourselves, our souls 
and bodies to be a reasonable, holy, and living sac- 
rifice unto thee," — although it is the very utmost 
rendering of the soul to God, it is yet the delib- 
erate, the joyful, the living acceptance of divine 
love and no mere trance of ecstasy. No more 
wonderful figure in all the range of sculpture 
has been created than the Clement XTTT of 

The group is completed by two symbolic 
figures representing Religion and Death. The 
former is personified as a female figure holding 
a cross; the latter sits with his torch reversed. 
Grief, but not hopeless and despairing sorrow, is 
portrayed; it is the grief companioned by faith 
which ever sees 


The Stan shine through the cypress trees.^ 

The base of the monument represents a 
chapel guarded by lions. Pistolesi, the great 
Italian authority on the sculpture of St. Peter's 



and the Vatican galleries, notes that the lions 
typify the firmness and the force and the cour- 
age, **la fortezza deW anima,^^ that so signally 
characterized Clement XIII. There is prob- 
ably no sacred monument in the realm of all 
modem art which can equal this creation in its 
delicacy, its lofty beauty, and the noble message 
that it conveys. 

The oldest art school, the Accad^mia di 
San Luca, founded in 1507 by Sixtus, when 
he called to Rome all the leading artists of 
Europe to assist in the decoration of the Sistine 
Chapel, is an organization that magically links 
the present with the days of Canova, Thorwald- 
sen, and Gibson, as it linked them, also, with 
the remote and historic past. The father of 
the present custodian of the Academy knew 
Thorwaldsen well. The grandfather of the 
gifted Italian sculptor, Tadolini (who has re- 
cently completed the tomb for Pope Leo XIII, 
placed in the Basilica of San Giovanni Later- 
ano), modelled the bust of Thorwaldsen, and in 
one gallery ho^ngs the great Danish sculptor's por- 
trait, painted by himself. The first director of 
San Luca was Federigo Zuccaro. In the early 
years of the nineteenth century this Academy 



was a vital centre of art life, and it is still a 
school that draws students, although the visitor 
who does not loiter and linger in his Rome 
may fail to know of this most alluring place. 
The San Luca is in the Via Bonella, one of the 
old, dark, narrow, and gloomy streets of the 
oldest part of Rome, — a short street of hardly 
more than two blocks, running between the 
Via Alessandra and the Forum. Hawthorne 
vividly pictures all this old Rome when he 
speaks of the ''narrow, crooked, intricate 
streets, so uncomfortably paved with little 
squares of lava that to tread over them is a 
penitential pilgrimage; so indescribably ugly, 
moreover; so cold, so alley-like, into which the 
sun never falls and where a chill wind forces 
its deadly breath into our lungs; the immense 
seven-storied, yellow-washed hovels, or call 
them palaces, where all that is dreary in domes- 
tic life seems magnified and multiplied; those 
staircases which ascend from a ground floor of 
cook shops and cobblers' stalls, stables and 
regiments of cavalry, to a middle region of 
princes, cardinals, and ambassadors, and an 
upper tier of artists just beneath the unattain- 
able sky: ... in which the visitor becomes 



sick at heart of Italian trickery, which has up- 
rooted whatever faith in man's integrity had 
till then endured;" the city "crushed down in 
spirit by the desolation of her ruin and the 
hopelessness of her future;" one recalls these 
words when passing through the unspeakable 
gloom and horror and desolation and squalor 
of ancient Rome. In these surroundings one's 
cab stops at ''No. 44/' and ringing the bell the 
door is open, whether by super-normal agency 
or by some invisible terrestrial manipulation 
one is unable to determine; but in the semi- 
darkness of the narrow hall he discerns before 
him a flight of steep stairs, and, as no other 
vista opens, he reasons that, by the law of 
exclusion, this must be the appointed way. 
Along the wall are seen, here and there, some 
antique casts from Trajan's Column, and re- 
liefs from Canova and Thorwaldsen. The gal- 
leries above hold only a small and a compara- 
tively unimportant collection of pictures. There 
are marines from Vemet and Claude Lorraine; 
a ''Venus Crowned by the Graces" from Rubens; 
Giulio Romano's copy of Raphael's " Galatea," — 
the original of which (in the Villa Famesina) 
represents Galatea surrounded by Nymphs^ 



Guido Reni 
Pag« 47 


Cupids, and Tritons, being carried in a shell 
across the sea. There is a Cupid, and also the 
**Fortuna'* of Guido Reni, — the latter a figure 
of ineffable grace floating in the air. One of 
Raphael's early works representing *'St. Luke 
Painting the Madonna" is here. There are 
several works by Titian, but these have less than 
would be expected of the glory usually associated 
with his name; and a Vandyke representing 
the Virgin and Child, with two angels playing, 
the one on a lute, the other on the violin. 

One salon filled with portraits of artists is 
especially interesting, and that of Thorwaldsen 
is so feminine in its costume and the parting 
of the hair, that it is almost inevitably mis- 
taken for that of a woman. Guido's graceful 
"Fortuna" is represented as a female figure 
flying through the air, her long hair streaming 
in the wind, and the picture recalls to one the 
Greek legend of Opportunity, as told by Kainos. 
The legend runs : — 

** * Of what town is thy sculptor ? * 
"'Of Lukzon.' 
'•'What is his name?' 




"•And thine?' 

"* Opportunity, controller of all things/ 


But why standest thou on tiptoe?' 
I am always running.' 
Why, then, hast thou wings on both feet ? ' 
*I fly like the wind.' 

But wherefore bearest thou a razor in thy 
right hand?' 

**'As a sign to men that I am sharper than 
any steel.' 

"*And why wearest thou thy hair long in 

***That I may be seized by him who ap- 
proaches me.' 

***By Zeus! And thou art bald behind ?' 
"• Because once I have passed with my 
winged feet no one may seize me then.'" 

From one landing, on the steep narrow stair- 
case of San Luca, opens the Biblioteca Sarti, 
an art libraiy of some fifteen thousand volumes. 
The sculpture gallery is now closed and can 
only be entered by special permission. This 
is the more to be regretted as it contains the 
principal collections in Rome of the original 
casts of the works of Thorwaldsen and Canova. 



The latter-day artists who have been setting 
up their Lares and Penates in Rome at vari- 
ous periods during the early and into the later 
years of the nineteenth century have found the 
Eternal City in strong contrast with its twentieth- 
century aspects, however it may have differed 
from the Rome of the Popes. The earlier Amer- 
ican artists to seek the Seven-hilled City were 
painters; and Allston, Copley, and Stuart had 
already distinguished themselves in pictorial art 
before America had produced any sculptor who 
could read his title clear to fame. It is to 
Hiram Powers (bom in Vermont in 1805) that 
America must look as her first sculptor, 
chronologically considered, closely followed by 
Thomas Crawford, who was but eight years his 
junior, and by Horatio Greenough, who was 
also bom in the same year as Powers, and who 
preceded him in Italy, but whose work has less 
artistic value. Mr. Greenough has left a colos- 
sal (if not an artistic) monument to his gifts in 
stately shaft marking Bunker Hill which he 
designed. Problematic in their claim to artis- 
tic excellence as are his "Washington** — a 
seated figure in the grounds of the Capitol in 
Washington — and his group in relief called 




"The Rescue" in the portico of the Capitol, 
his name lives by his personality as a man of 
liberal culture and noble character, if not by 
his actual rank in art. First of the American 
group in Italy, he was followed by Powers, who 
sought the ineffable beauty and enchantment 
of Florence in 18S7. Horatio Greenough died 
in comparatively early life, leaving perhaps the 
most interesting of his works in a relief (pur- 
chased by Professor George Ticknor, the distin- 
guished historian of Spain) *^ representing in 
touching beauty and expression a sculptor 
in an attitude of dejection and discourage- 
ment before his work, while a hand from above 
pours oil into his dying lamp, an allegory 
illustrative of the struggles of genius and 
the relief which timely patronage may extend 
to it/' 

Mr. Powers passed his entire life in Florence. 
His work attracted great attention and inspired 
ardent appreciation. In portrait busts Powers 
was especially successful; and his " Greek Slave," 
his "Fisher Boy," "II Penseroso," and "Pros- 
erpine" impressed the art-loving public of the 
time as marked by strong artistic power and as 
entitled to permanent rank in sculpture. 



Mr. Crawford died young; but his name lives 
in the majestic bronze statue of "'Beethoven'' 
which is in the beautiful white and gold inte* 
rior of Symphony Hall, in Boston; and his 
*' Orpheus" and some other works claim high 
appreciation. Writing of Crawford, Mr. Hillard 
said: — 

** Crawford's career was distinguished by 
energy, resolution, and self-reliance. While yet 
a youth, he formed the determination to make 
himself an artist; and with this view went to 
Rome — alone, unfriended, and unknown — 
and there began a life of toil and renunciation; 
resisting the approaches alike of indolence and 
despondency. His strength of character and 
force of will would have earned distinction for 
powers inferior to his. Nothing was given to 
self-indulgence; nothing to vague dreams; 
nothing to unmanly despair. He did not wait 
for the work that he would have, but labored 
cheerfully upon that which he could have. 
Success came gradually, but surely; and his 
powers as surely proved themselves to be 
more than equal to the demand made upon 



On the death of Mr. Crawford, Thomas Wil- 
liam Parsons wrote a memorial poem in which 
this stanza occurs: — 


O Rome! what memories awake. 

When Crawford's name is said* 
Of days and friends for whose dear sake 
That path of Hades unto me 

Will have no more of dread 
Than his own Orpheus felt, seeking Euiydioel 

O Crawford! husband, father, brother 

Are in that name, th§t little word! 
Let me no more my sorrow smother; 

Grief stirs me, and I must be 

Thomas Ball, who went in early manhood to 
Florence, where he remained until when nearly 
at the age of fourscore he returned to his native 
land, still continues, at the age of eighty-five, to 
pursue the art he loves. He has created works, 
as his equestrian statue of "Washington" in the 
Pubhc Gardens and his "Lincohi Freeing the 
Slave" in Park Square, both in Boston; his 
great Washington Memorial group in Methuen, 
Massachusetts; his ^'Christ Blessing Little Chil- 
dren," and many other historic and ideal sculp- 
tures, that seem endowed with his beautiful 
and winning spirit as well as with his rare 



gifts. Larkin G. Mead chose Florence rather 
than Rome for his home and work. His noble 
''River God/' placed at the head of the Missis- 
sippi near St. Paul, as well as other interesting 
creations, link his name with that of his native 
land. Randolph. Rogers, a man of genius; 
Rinehart, Paul Akers, and Thompson all died 
before the full maturity of their powers; Akers 
at the early age of thirty-six, leaving, as his 
bride of a year, the poet, Elizabeth Akers Allen, 
who, under the nom de plume of " Florence Percy,'* 
has endeared herself to all lovers of lyric art. In 
a monograph on Paul Akers, written after his 
death, the writer says of his studio in Rome : — 

''Linked with this studio is Hawthorne's tale 
of 'The Marble Faun,' as Kenyon's studio was 
none other than Paul Akers's. Though Haw- 
thorne in his romance saw fit to lay the scene 
in the rooms once occupied by Canova, it was 
in the Via del Crecie that he wove the thread 
of his Italian romance. 

"Paul Akers's growing reputation and in- 
crease of work ere long made it necessary for 
him to seek a more commodious studio, and he 
took rooms once occupied by the famous 



Canova. Here he had made under his super- 
vision copies in marble of many of the famous 
works of the Vatican and the Capitol. The 
largest collection of these was a commission 
from Mr. Edward King of Newport, and among 
them were busts of Ariadne, Demosthenes, and 
Cicero, and a facsimile of the 'Dying Gladiator' 
which Mr. King presented to the Redwood 
Library of Newport. 

• • » • • 

'* During his first winter in Rome he was 
permitted by the authorities to make a cast of 
a mutilated bust of Cicero which had long lain 
in the Vatican. A critic writing from Rome 
in 1857 says of this bust of Cicero: *Mr. Akers 
obtained permission to take a cast from it; he 
then restored the eye, brow, and ears, and 
modelled a neck and bust for it in accordance 
with the temperament shown by the ner- 
vous and rather thin face. He has succeeded 
admirably. It is the very head of the Vatican, 
yet without the scars of envious time, and sits 
gracefully on human shoulders, instead of be- 
ing rolled awkwardly back upon a shelf.' This 
bust is unlike the portrait which so long passed 
for Cicero's, but has been identified by means 



of a medal which was struck by the Magnesians 
in honor of the great orator during his consulate^ 
and is now the authorized portrait of Cicero. 
The finest of Paul Akers^s creations executed 
during hs stay in Rome are 'St. Elizabeth of 
Hungary/ which represents the princess at the 
moment the roses have fallen to the ground; 
'Una and the Lion/ an illustration of the line in 
Spenser's 'Faerie Queene/ — 

'Still while she slept he kept both watch and ward;' 

the head of Milton and the 'Pearl Diver/ The 
' Pearl Diver/ now owned by the city of Port- 
land, represents a youth stretched upon a sea- 
worn rock and wrapped in eternal sleep. The 
arms are thrown above the head, and about the 
waist is a net containing pearl-bearing shells for 
which he has risked his Ufe. There is no trace 
of suffering; all is subdued to beauty. It is 
death represented as the ancients conceived it, 
the act of the torch-reverting god. This youth, 
who has lost his life at the moment when all 
that for which he had dared was within his 
grasp, suggests Paul Akers's own untimely 
death on the eve of his triumph." 



It was from his Roman studio that Mr. Akers 
wrote to a friend ; — 

"Yesterday Browning called. He looked a 
long time at my Milton, and said it was Milton, 
the man-angel. He praised the wealth of hair 
which I had given the head, and then said that 
Mrs. Browning had a lock of Milton's hair, the 
only one now in existence. This was given her 
by Leigh Hunt, just before his death, who 
had the records proving it to be genuine. The 
hair was, he said, like mine. He invited me 
to visit him in Florence, where he would show 
me the first edition of Milton's poems, marked 
to indicate the peculiar accent which the poet 
sometimes adopted, a knowledge of which 
makes clear somewhat that otherwise seems 
discordant. Milton was so great a musician 
that there could have been no fault in sound 
in his compositions. He looked over my books ; 
said my edition of Shelley was one which he 
had corrected for the press, not from a knowl- 
edge of the original MS., but from his internal 
evidence that so it must have been; said Poe 
was a wonderful man; spoke of Tennyson in 
the warmest terms. Took up a copy of his 



own poems published in the United States, and 
remarked that it was better than the English 
edition, yet had some awful blunders, and 
wished me to allow him to correct a copy for 
me. My head of the * Drowned Girl' caught his 
eye and interested him. I told him that I had 
thought of Hood's 'Bridge of Sighs/ He then 
said that Hood wrote that on his deathbed, 
and read it to him before any one else had seen 
it. Hood was doubtful whether it was worth 
publishing. To-morrow Mrs. Browning is to 
come; she has been quite ill since she came to 
Rome, and I have seen her but once. I derive 
much comfort from the friendship of Charlotte 
Cushman. She has just gone from here. She 
has frequent breakfast parties; I have attended 
but one. Mr. and Mrs. James T. Fields, Wild, 
the painter, and myself were the guests. Fields 
I like much." 

The first works of Mr. Akers were two 
portrait busts, of Longfellow and of Samuel 
Appleton. Of his bust of Milton, Hawthorne 
in the " Marble Faun '* has said : — 


In another style, there was the grand, calm 
head of Milton, not copied from any one bust 



or picture, yet more authentic than any of 
them, because all known representations of the 
poet had been profoundly studied and solved 
in the artist's mind. The bust over the tomb 
in Greyfriar's Church, the original miniatures 
and pictures wherever to be found, had mingled 
each its special truth in this one work — 
wherein Ukewise by long perusal and deep love 
of * Paradise Lost,' the *Comus,' the *Lycidas,* 
and *L' Allegro,* the sculptor had succeeded 
even better than he knew in spiritualizing his 
marble with the poet's mighty genius. And 
this was a great thing to have achieved, such a 
length of time after the dry bones and dust of 
Milton were like those of any other dead man/* 

Richard Greenough and the painter, Mr. 
Haseltine, were prominent figures among the 
early American group of the nineteenth-century 
artists in Rome. There came Emma Stebbins, 
who modelled a fine portrait bust of Charlotte 
Cushman; and Anne Whitney, whose statues 
of Samuel Adams and of Leif Ericson adorn 
public grounds in Boston; whose life-size statue 
of Harriet Martineau is the possession of Welles- 
ley College; and whose "Chaldean Astronomer/* 






"Lotus-Eater," and **Roma" — a figure per- 
sonifying the Rome of Pio Nono — reveal her 
power in ideal creation. 

The name of Harriet Hosmer stands out in 
brilliant pre-eminence among those of all women 
who have followed the plastic art. Her infinite 
charm of personality seems to impart itself to 
her work, and she has the gift to make friends 
as well as to call forms out of clay — the 
success of friendship being one even more per- 
manently satisfjring. In her early life as a 
girl hardly more than twenty, she sought Rome, 
living with art as her chaperon. Her versa- 
tility, her picturesque individuality, and her 
imaginative power all combined to win sym- 
pathetic recognition. Gibson, whose guidance 
was particularly well adapted to develop her 
gifts, received her into his own studio and took 
a deep interest in her work. It was during the 
period of her early efforts that Hawthorne was 
in Rome, and she is graphically depicted in his 
notebooks in her boyish cap at work in the 
clay. Gibson was an artist, con amore^ and 
Miss Hosmer's joyous abandon to her art cap- 
tivated his sympathy. "In my art what do I 
find?" he questioned; "happiness; love which 



does not depress me; difficulties which I do 
not fear; resolution which never abates; ffights 
which carry me above the ground; ambition 
which tramples no one down.** Master and 
pupil were akin in their unwearied devotion to 
art. Of Gibson, whose absence of mind re- 
garding all the details of life made him almost 
helpless in travel and affairs, Miss Hosmer 
used gleefully to say that he "was a god in 
his studio, but God help him out of it!" This 
glancing sprite of a girl, frightening her friends 
by her daring and venturous horseback riding; 
gravitating by instinct to offer some generous, 
tender aid to the sick, the destitute, or the help- 
less; the life and light of gay dinners and of 
social evenings; working from six in the morn- 
ing tiU night in her studio, "with an absence of 
pretension," says Mrs. Browning, "and sim- 
plicity of manners which accord rather with 
the childish dimples in her rosy cheeks than 
with her broad forehead and high aims," had 
the magic gift that merged her visitors and 
patrons into enthusiastic friends; and Mrs. 
Browning has chronicled the pretty scene when 
Lady Marion Alford, the daughter of the Earl 
of Northumberland, knelt before the girl artist 



and slipped on her finger a ring — a precious 
ruby set with diamonds — as a token of her 
devotion. Reading Miss Hosmer's life still 
further backward, the reader is transported, as 
if on some magic carpet, to St. Louis, in the 
United States, where a noble and lofty man, 
Hon. Wayman Crow, — a generous friend, a 
liberal patron of the arts, a man of the most 
refined tastes and culture, whose great qualities 
were always used in high service, — first aided 
Miss Hosmer to the preliminary studies in her 
art, and whose accomplished and lovely daugh- 
ters (now Mrs. Lucien Carr of Boston, Mrs. 
Edwin Cushman of Newport and Rome, and 
Mrs. Emmons of Leamington, England) were 
as a trio of sisters to the young artist. And 
"the flowing conditions of life" bear on this 
lifelong friendship until a fair young girl, 
^lise (the daughter of Mrs. Emmons), catches 
up this sweet tie and as an accomplished and 
lovely young woman in Roman society, when 
these ** flowing conditions" had come down even 
into the season of 1906-7, Miss Enmions cher- 
ished the fame of Harriet Hosmer and enjoyed 
the privilege of a constant correspondence with 
the distinguished artist. So the past links itself 



again with the present; and who can tell where 
any story in life begins or ends in the constant 
evolutionary progress ? 

Miss Hosmer's work attracted wide attention. 
Her majestic statue of "Zenobia;" the winsome 
"Puck;** the impressive statue of "Beatrice 
Cenci/* representing her as she lay in her cell 
in Castel San Angelo the night before her exe- 
cution, — these and other works of hers are of 
an interesting character and will hold their 
permanent rank in sculpture. 

Were all the muses present at the christening 
of William Wetmore Story — sculptor, musi- 
cian, poet and painter, jurist and man of 
letters, and the friend whose social relationships 
made life a thing of beauty — 


To winds and waterfalls, 
And autumn's sunlit festivals, 
To music and to music's thoughts 
Inextricably bound " ? 

Mr. Story made his first visit to Italy in 1847; 
not at that time with any fixed purpose of ex- 
changing his profession of the law for art. He 
loved literature, and his grace and ease in 
expression had already manifested his literary 



talent; he had an inclination toward modelling 
— it could hardly, at this time, have been called 
by a stronger name — and curiously enough 
with him the usual conditions were reversed 
and he received a commission for a statue of 
his father, Judge Story, before he had made 
any definite turning toward the art of sculpture. 
A young man of versatile gifts and accom- 
plished scholarship, sculpture was to him one 
among the many attractive forms of art rather 
than the supreme attraction; and it was the 
stimulus of the given work that determined 
him as a sculptor, rather than his determination 
to be a sculptor that determined the work. 
Among the goddesses of life Destiny must, per- 
haps, be allowed a place. At all events, after 
Mr. Story's initial glance at Italy, he sought 
Rome again a year later, and this time it was 
his choice for life, however unrevealed to his eye 
were the resplendent years that lay before him. 
He had fallen under the spell of the Magic 
Land. In a letter to Lowell, Mr. Story had 
questioned how he should ever endure again 
"the restraint and bondage of Boston." It 
was the picturesque Rome of the Popes that he 
first knew. The years of 1848-49 were those 



of revolutionary activities in Italy. Pio Nono, 
one of the most saintly and beloved of the 
Popes, — whose mortal form now rests in that 
richly decorated chapel in old San Lorenzo, 
ftuyri le mura, on the site of the church that 
Constantine founded on the burial place of St. 
Lawrence, — made his flight to Gaeta and the 
Roman republic was established. It was a 
dramatic scene when Pio Nono returned (April 
12, 1850), entering Rome by the Porta San Gio- 
vanni. The scene from this gate was then, as 
now, one of the most impressive in the Eternal 

It was in this vast Basilica of San Giovanni 
Laterano that Pio Nono entered that April day, 
leaving his carriage and walking alone to the 
altar, where he knelt in devotion. A splendid 
procession awaited without to accompany the 
Holy Father to the Papal Palace. The superb 
state carriages conveyed princes and foreign 
ambassadors and great nobles. From the 
Piazza San Giovanni to St. Peter's every house 
was illuminated, and the populace cheered and 
waved until the very air vibrated with sound 
and color. These were the days when the 
methods of government were a visible spectacle, 



a drama, making the life in Rome a daily il- 
luminated missal. 

The Storys, on their return to Italy, located 
themselves for a time in Florence, where they 
met the Brownings, and that lifelong friendship 
between the poet and the sculptor was initiated. 
In these happy Florentine days Mr, Story 
worked in his studio while his wife read to him 
the life of Keats, then just issued, written by 
Monckton Milnes, later Lord Houghton. But 
the "flowing conditions" soon bore them on- 
ward to Rome, where they settled themselves 
in the Via Porta Finciana, and met the Craw- 
fords, who were domiciled in the Villa Negroni. 
In these Roman days, too, appeared Mr. Crop- 
sey, of poetic landscape fame, and here, too, was 
Margaret Fuller. Mazzini was then a leading 
figure in the Chamber of Deputies, — "the 
prophet not only of modem Italy, but of the 
modem world." He found Italy " utilitarian and 
materialistic, permeated by French ideas, and 
weakened by her reliance on French initiative. 
He was filled with hope that Italy might not only 
achieve her own unity, but might once more 
accomplish, as she had in the Rome of the 
Csesars and the Rome of the Church, the unity 



of the Western world. * On my side I believe/ 
he says, 'that the great problem of the day was 
a religious problem, to which all other ques- 
tions were but secondary.' " He was asserting 
that "we cannot relate ourselves to the Divine, 
but through collective humanity. It is not by 
isolated duty (which indeed the conditions of 
modem life render more and more impossible), 
nor by contemplation of mere Power as dis- 
played in the material world, that we can 
develop our nature. It is rather by mingling 
with the universal hfe, and by carrying on the 
evolution of the never-ending work." 

The studios of Mr. Crawford in those days 
were in the Piazza delle Terme, near the Baths 
of Diocletian. William Page, the painter, was 
domiciled on the slope of the Quirinal where 
he painted a portrait of Charlotte Cushman 
which Mrs. Browning described as "a miracle''; 
one of Mrs. Crawford; the head of Mrs. Story, 
which he insisted upon presenting to her hus- 
band; and a magnificent portrait of Browning 
which the artist presented to Mrs. Browning. 
"Both of us," wrote Robert Browning of this 
gift, "would have fain escaped being the subjects 
of such princely generosity; but there was no 



withstanding his delicacy and noble-minded- 
ness.'* Mrs. Jameson was much in Rome in 
the early years of the 1850-60 decade, living 
in the old port by the Tiber nearly opposite 
to the new and splendid building of the law 
courts. Near the Tarpeian Rock Frederika 
Bremer had perched, in a tiny room of which 
she took all the frugal care, even to washing 
the blue cups and plates when she invited 
the Hawthomes to a tea of a simplicity that 
suggested, indeed, the utmost degree of "light" 
housekeeping. Thomas Buchanan Read was 
one of the hosts and guests of this social 
group, and it was at a dinner he gave that 
Hawthorne met Gibson, whose conversational 
talents were evidently (upon that occasion) 
chiefly employed in contemning the pre-Raphael- 
ite school of painters and emphasizing the need 
of sculptors to discover and to follow the prin- 
ciples of the Greeks, — "a fair doctrine, but 
one which Mr. Gibson fails to practise," 
observes Hawthorne. The Brownings were 
variously bestowed in Rome through succeed- 
ing winters, — in the Bocca di Leone, in the 
Via del Tritone and elsewhere. Mrs. Browning, 
as her " Casa Guida Windows " and many other 



poems attest, took always the deepest interest 
in Italian politics. American and English 
friends come and go, but the little group of 
residents and the more permanent sojourners, 
as the Hawthomes and the Brownings, con- 
tinue their daily variations on life in the social 
dinners and teas, the excursions and the sight- 
seeing of the wonderful city. 

Only the magician could "call up the van- 
ished past again " and summon into an undeni- 
able materialization those charming figures to 
come forth out of the shadowy air of the rich, 
historic past, and stand before us in the full 
light of contemporary attention. Not alone this 
group of choice persons, but the environment 
of their time, the very atmosphere, are de- 
manded of this necromancy. The figure of 
Adelaide Kemble (Mrs. Sartoris) is one of 
these, and the tradition still survives of a 
concert given in the splendid, spacious hall 
of the Palazzo Colonna where she was the prima 
donna of the occasion. There were also mu- 
sicals at the house of Mrs. Sartoris, where the 
guests met her famous sister, Fanny Kemble. 
Mrs. Browning was fond of both the sisters, 
and said of them that their social brilliancy 



was their least distinction. She found them 
both "noble and sympathetic," and her "dear 
Mr. Page'* and "Hatty'' (Miss Hosmer) "an 
immense favorite with us both," she said of 
her husband and herself; these and the Storys 
made up the special circle for the Brownings in 
Rome. "TheSartoris house has the best soci- 
ety in Rome," writes Mrs. Browning to Miss 
Mitford, "and exquisite music, of course. We 
met Lockhart there and my husband sees a 
good deal of him. ... A little society," she 
says, "is good for soul and body, and on the 
Continent it is easy to get a handful of society 
without paying too dear for it. This is an 
advantage of Continental life." 

Mrs. Browning greatly admired the work of 
Mr. Page, whose portraits she found "like 
Titian's." But the tinted statues of Gibson 
seemed to her inartistic. His famous painted 
Venus she called "pretty," but only as a wax 
doll might be, not as a work of genuine art. 
Then Thackeray and his two daughters came; 
Miss Anne (now known to the world of litera- 
ture as Anne Thackeray Ritchie) was a special 
favorite with Mrs. Browning. 

Coming to Rome at one time from Florence 



in midwinter, the Brownings found that the 
Storys had taken an apartment for them (in 
the Via Bocea di Leone), and they arrived to 
find lighted fires and lamps. Their journey 
had included a week's visit at Assisi, studying 
the rich art of Cimabue and Giotto in the 
church of the great Franciscan monasteiy. 
Mrs. Browning visited studios in Rome and 
found that of Mr. Crawford more interesting 
to her than Mr. Gibson's, but no artist is "as 
near" to her, as she herself says, as Mr. Page. 
The Storys left the Porta Pinciana to live at 
No. 93 in the Piazza di Spagna, and in the 
same house with the Brownings, in the Bocca 
di Leone, Mr. Page had his apartment. To 
Lowell, Mr. Story wrote of the Brownings : — 

"The Brownings and we became great 
friends in Florence, and, of course, we could 
not become friends without liking each other. 
He, Emelyn says, is like you. He is of my 
size, but slighter, with straight black hair, 
small eyes, a smooth face, and manner ner- 
vous and rapid. He has great vivacity, but 
not the least humor; some sarcasm, consider- 
able critical faculty, and very great frankness 



and friendliness of manner and mind. Mrs. 
Browning will sit buried up in a large easy- 
chair listening and talking very quietly and 
pleasantly. Very unaffected is she. ... I 
have hundreds of statues in my head, but they 
are in the future tense. Powers I knew very 
well in Florence. He is a man of great me- 
chanical talent and natural strength of percep- 
tion, but with no poetry in his composition, 
and I think no creative power. ... I have 
been to hear AUegri's * Miserere ' in the Sistine 
Chapel, with the awful and mighty figures of 
Michael Angelo looking down from the ceiling; to 
hear Guglielmi's * Miserere ' in St. Peter's, while 
the gloom of evening was gathering in the lofty 
aisles and shrouding the frescoed domes, was 
a deeply affecting and solemnly beautiful ex- 
perience. Never can one forget the plaintive 
wailing of the voices that seemed to implore 
pity and pardon." 

It was in 1856 that the Storys located 
themselves in Palazzo Barberini, which Bernini 
designed and which was built "out of the 
quarry of the Coliseum" by Urban VIII. It 
is one of the wonderful old palaces of Rome, — 



this mass of Barberini courts, gardens, terraces, 
and vast apartments, with the interminable 
winding stairs, where on one landing Thor- 
waldsen's lion lies before the great doors deco- 
rated with the arms of Popes and princes. 
Here the old Cardinal Barberini lived his 
stormy life ; here are the gallery and the library, 
— the latter stored with infinite treasures of an- 
cient documents, old maps whose portrayal of the 
earth bears little resemblance to the present, 
and famous manuscripts and volumes in old vel- 
lum, some fifty thousand in all. In the Barbe- 
rini gallery are a few noted works, — Rapha- 
el's "Fomarina," Guido's ** Beatrice Cenci," a 
"Holy Family" by Andrea del Sarto, and others. 
The Via delle Quatre Fontane, on which the 
Palazzo Barberini stands, might well be known 
as the street of the wonderful vista. One strolls 
down it to the Via Sistina and to Piazza Trinity 
de' Monti at the head of the Spanish steps 
(the Scala di Spagna), pausing for the loveli- 
ness of the view. Across the city rises the 
opposite height of Monte Mario, and to the 
left the Janiculum, now crowned with the mag- 
nificent equestrian statue of Garibaldi, which 
is in evidence from almost every part of Rome. 



As far as the eye can see the Campagna stretches 
away, infinite as the sea — a very Campagna 
Mystica. The luminous air, the faint, misty 
blue of the distance, the deep purple shadows 
on the hills, make up a landscape of color. At 
the foot of the Spanish steps the flower venders 
spread out their wares, — great bunches of the 
flame-colored roses peculiar to Italy, the fra- 
grant white hyacinths, golden jonquils, baskets 
of violets, and masses of lilies of the valley. 

On many a night of brilliant moonlit glory 
the artistic sojourners in Rome lingered on the 
parapet of the Pincian Hill watching the moon- 
light flood the Eternal City until churches and 
palaces seemed to swim in a sea of silver. Or 
in the morning, when the rose-red of dawn 
was aglow, there seemed to hover over the 
city that wraith of mist whose secret Claude 
Lorraine surprises in his landscapes. These 
dawn visions of mysterious, incredible beauty 
are a part of the very identity of Rome. 

There were mornings when the Hawthomes 
with Mrs. Jameson or some other friend would 
drive out to the old San Lorenzo (fuori le mura)y 
the church founded by Constantine in S30 on 
the site where the body of St. Lawrence was 



buried. At various periods the church was 
enlarged and finally, as recently as in 1864, 
Pio Nono had great improvements made under 
the architect Vespignani. In the piazza in front 
was placed an immense column of red granite, 
some sixty feet high, with the statue of St. 
Lawrence, a standing figure, at the top. It is 
most impressive. The colonnade at the en- 
trance of the church is decorated with frescoes 
and contains two immense sarcophagi, whose 
sides are beautifully sculptured with reliefs. 
The roof is supported by six Ionic columns. 
Entering the church one finds an interior of 
three aisles divided by colossal columns of 
Oriental granite. In the middle aisle, on both 
sides the galleries, are fresco paintings illustrat- 
ing the martyrdom of St. Lawrence and of St. 
Stephen, one series on the right and the other 
on the left. One of these paintings, especially, 
of the life of St. Lawrence, is strangely haunt- 
ing to the imagination. It represents the youth- 
ful, slender figure, nude, save for slight drapery, 
laid on the gridiron while the fire is being 
kindled under it and the fagots shovelled in. 
The physical shrinking of the flesh — of every 
nerve — from the torture, the spiritual strength 




and invincible energy of the countenance, are 
wonderfully depicted. The • great aisle was 
painted by order of Pius IX by Cesare Fracas- 
sini; in it are two pulpits of marble. A double 
staircase of marble conducts to that part of the 
Basilica of Constantine which by Honorius III 
was converted into the presbytery. It is deco- 
rated at the upper end by twelve columns of 
violet marble which rise from the level of the 
primitive basilica beneath. At the end is the 
ancient pontifical seat, adorned with mosaic and 
precious marbles. The papal altar is under a 
canopy in the Byzantine style. The pavement 
of this presbytery is worthy of particular atten- 
tion. Descending to the confessional which is 
under the high altar the tomb of the martyred 
saints, Lawrence, Stephen, and Justin, is found. 

It was the request of Pio Nono that his mortal 
body should rest here, where it is placed in a 
simple tomb, according to his own instructions; 
but the chapel is very rich in decoration which 
was paid for by money sent from all parts of 
the world. 

The chapel walls are entirely encrusted in 
mother-of-pearl, gilt bronze, and beautiful 
marbles. The mosaic paintings are formed of 



gold and precious stones of fabulous value. 
This interior is perhaps the richest in the 
worid in its decoration. San Lorenzo is a 
patriarchal church, and one of the seven pil- 
grimage churches of Rome. Near San Lorenzo 
is the Campo Verano, a cemetery containing 
many beautiful memorial sculptures. 

In those days, half a century ago, the entrance 
most often used by visitors to Rome was through 
the Via Flaminia and the Porta del Popolo, 
opening on the Piazza del Popolo, rather the 
most picturesque and impressive place in all 
Rome. On the left is the Pincian Hill (Monte 
Pincio), with its rich terraces, balustrades, 
its beautiful porticos filled with statuary, 
its groves of cypress and ilex trees; a classic 
vision rising on the sight and enchanting the 
imagination. On the side opposite the Porta 
three roads diverge in fan shape — the Via 
Babuino, the Corso, and the Ripetta, with the 
"twin churches" side by side; one between the 
Babuino and the Corso, the other between 
the Corso and the Ripetta. 

The Corso (which was the ancient Flaminian 
Way) runs straight to the Piazza Venezia at the 
foot of the Capitoline Hill. This Piazza del 



Popolo was widened and decorated by Pius VII. 
It is formed by two semicircles, adorned with 
fountains and statues, and terminated by four 
symmetucal edifices. In the semicircles are 
colossal groups in marble, and a road opposite 
the Pincio leads to the Ponte Margherita and 
the Prati di Castello. 

The obelisk in the centre of the piazza was 
brought to Rome from HeliopoHs by Csesar 
Augustus and originally stood in the Circus 
Maximus. It was erected here by Pope Sixtus 
V, and it is nearly a hundred feet in height. 
It is formed of red granite, and while it has 
been broken in three places, the hieroglyphics 
are still legible. This obelisk was first erected 
in Egypt as a part of the Temple of the Sun 
at Heliopolis, in a period preceding that of 
Rameses II. After the battle of Actium, Augus- 
tus transported it to Rome, and it was first 
placed in the Circus Maximus, but during the 
reign of Valentinian it fell from its pedestal 
and lay buried in the earth, until in the six- 
teenth century Pope Sixtus V had it placed in 
the centre of the Piazza del Popolo, and con- 
secrated it to the cross. The two inscriptions 
are on opposite sides. One thus reads : — 



"The Emperor Caesar, son of the divine 
Caesar Augustus, Sovereign Pontiff, twelve times 
Emperor, eleven times Consul, fourteen times 
Tribune, having conquered Egypt, consecrated 
this gift to the Sun." 

The other inscription is as follows : — 

"Sixtus V, Sovereign Pontiff, excavated, 
transported, and restored this obelisk, sacri- 
legiously consecrated to the Sun by the great 
Augustus, in the great Circus, where it lay in 
ruins, and dedicated it to the cross triumphant 
in the fourth year of his pontificate." 

The Church of Santa Maria del Popolo is 
built into the very wall of Monte Pincio on the 
site of Nero's tomb. It dates back to 1099, 
and consists of three naves and several chapels. 
In the first chapel is a "Nativity" by Pin- 
turicchio, who also painted the lunettes. 
Another chapel belongs to the Cibo family, and 
is rich in marbles and adorned with sixteen 
columns of Sicilian jasper. The " Conception " 
is by Maratta, the "Martyrdom of St. Law- 
rence" by Morandi, and the "St. Catherine" 



by Volterra. The "Visitation" was sculptured 
by Bernini in 1679. The third chapel is painted 
by Pinturicchio (1513), and the fourth has an 
interesting bas-relief of the fifteenth century. 
The picture of the Virgin, on the high altar, is 
one of those attributed to St. Luke; the paint- 
ings on the vault of the choir are by Pinturic- 
chio. The two marble monuments are, from 
their perfection of design and execution, reck- 
oned among the best modem works. They are 
by Cantucci da S. Savino. Li the chapel fol- 
lowing is an "Assumption " by Annibale Carracci ; 
the side pictures are by Caravaggio. The last 
chapel but one in the smaU nave is the Chigi 
chapel, and is one of the most celebrated in 

Raphael gave the designs for the dome, the 
paintings of the frieze, and the altar picture. 
This latter was begun by Del Piombo and fin- 
ished by Salviati. The statue of Daniel is by 
Bernini. The front of the altar and the statues 
of Jonah and Elijah were done by Lorenzetto 
(1541), from designs by Raphael. Outside this 
chapel is the monument of Princess Odescalchi 
Chigi (1771), by Paolo Posi. The stained win- 
dows of the choir belong to the fourteenth cen- 



turj, and in the sacristy and the vestibule are 
monuments also of the fourteenth century and 
of the fifteenth. Luther resided in the convent 
attached to this church when he was in Rome. 

There is a legend that a large walnut tree 
grew on the site of Nero's tomb in whose 
branches innumerable crows had their home, 
and that they devastated all that part of Rome. 
An appeal was made to the Virgin, who de- 
clared that the crows were demons who kept 
watch over the ashes of Nero, and ordered the 
tree to be cut down and burned, the ashes being 
scattered to the air, and that, on the spot, a 
church should be built to her honor. This was 
accomplished, and the crows no more troubled 
the Eternal City. 

The gardens of Lucullus were on the Monte 
Pincio. The view of the terraced hillside from 
the Piazza del Popolo is one of the most im- 
pressive in Rome. 

The Hawthomes left Rome in 1859; and the 
death of Mrs. Browning in June of 1861 left 
the little circle of the Roman winters irreparably 
broken. "Returning to Rome," wrote Story 
to Charles Eliot Norton, "I have not one single 
intimate ... no one with whom I can walk 



any of the higher ranges of art and philosophy/' 
Mr. Story had modelled the busts of both Mr. 
and Mrs. Browning during their sojourns in 
Rome; in 1858 Harriet Hosmer had made the cast 
of the "clasped hands" of the poets, the model 
having since been cast in bronze ; Mr. Page had, 
83 abeady noted, painted a portrait of Robert 
Browning; and Mr. Leighton (afterward Sir 
Frederick) had made a beautiful portrait sketch 
of Mrs. Browning. In later years all these 
memorials, with other paintings or plastic 
sketches of the wedded poets, were grouped in 
Mr. Barrett Browning's palace in Venice. 

At this time Mr. Story had completed his 
"Cleopatra," which Hawthorne had embalmed 
in Uterary mention in "The Marble Faun;" 
and beside his "Judith," "Sappho," and other 
lesser works, he had achieved one of his finest 
successes in the "Libyan Sibyl." Both the 
** Cleopatra" and the "Sibyl" became famous. 
Whether they would produce so strong an effect 
at the present stage of twentieth-century life is 
a problem, but one that need not press for 
solution. Mr. Story was singularly fortunate 
in certain conditions that grouped themselves 
about his Ufe and combined to establish his 



fame. These conditions, of course, were largely 
the outer reflection of inner qualities, ss our 
conditions are apt to be; still, the "lack of 
favoring gales " not infrequently foredooms some 
gallant bark to a disastrous course. 

*'Man is his own star. . . . 

» • • . • 

Our acts, our angels, are, for good or ill. 
Our fatal shadows that walk by us stiU," 

it is true; yet has not Edith Thomas embodied 
something of that overruling destiny that every 
thoughtful observer must discern in life in these 
lines ? — 

*'You may blame the wind or no. 
But it ever hath been so — 
Something bravest of its kind 
Leads a frustrate life and blind, 
For the lack of favoring gales 
Blowing blithe on other sails." 

Only occasionally have we 

*' . . . the time, and the place. 
And the loved one all together.*' 

Mr. Story's nature was eminently sympathetic 
with the other arts; he was himself almost as 
much a literary man as he was a sculptor; he 



was the friend and companion of literary men, 
and to the fact that art in the middle years of 
the nineteenth century was far more a literary 
topic than a matter of critical scrutiny, Mr. 
Story owed an incalculable degree of his fame. 
He was an extremely interesting figure with his 
social grace, his liberal culture, and his versa- 
tile gifts. His life was centred in choice and 
refined associations. If not dowered with lofty 
and immortal original genius, he had a singular 
combination of talent, of fastidious taste, and of 
the intellectual appreciation that enabled him 
to select interesting ideal subjects to portray in 
the plastic art. These appealed to the special 
interest of his Kteraiy friends and were widely 
discussed in the press and periodicals of the 
day. It is a bonmot of contemporary studio life 
that Hawthorne rather than Story created the 
"Cleopatra," and one ingenious spirit suggests 
that as Mr. Story put nothing of expression or 
significance into his statues, the beholder could 
read into them anything he pleased; finding an 
empty mould, so to speak, into which to pour 
whatever image or embodiment he might con- 
jure up from the infinite realm of imagination. 
One of the latest of these contemporary critics 



declares that "Story declined appreciably, year 
by year, falling away from his own standard; 
haunted to the point of obsession by visions 
of mournful female figures, generally seated, 
wrapped in gloom. It seems strange," this 
critic continues, "that so active a mind should 
dream of nothing but brooding, sinister soub, 
of bodies bowed in grief, or tense with rage. 
Never once, apparently, did there come to 
him a vision of buoyancy and grace; of a 
beauty that one could love; of good cheer 
and joy of very living; always these unwhole- 
some creatures bom of that belated Byronic 

This criticism, while it has as Uttle appre- 
ciation of Mr. Story's exquisite culture and of 
the taste and refinement of his art as the general 
rush of the motor car and telephonic con- 
versational life of the first decade of the twen- 
tieth century has of the thoughtful, the poetic, 
the leisurely atmosphere of Mr. Story's time, 
is yet not without a keen flashlight of truth. 
Painting had its reactionary crisis from the 
pre-Raphaelite ideals and the irdransigeants 
have had their own conflicts in which they sur- 
vived, or disappeared, according to the degree 



of artistic vitality within. Sculpture and litera- 
ture must also meet the series of tests to which 
the onward progress of life persists in subject- 
ing them, and those who are submerged and 
perish can only encourage the survivors as did 
the Greeks, as sung by Theocritus : — 


A shipwrecked sailor, buried on this coast. 

Bids you set sail. 
Full many a gallant ship, when we were lost. 

Weathered the gale.'* 

"As we refine, our checks grow finer," said 
Emerson. As life becomes more elaborate and 
ambitious, the critical tests increase. Contem- 
porary fame can be created for the artist by 
favorable contemporary comment; but it rests 
with himself, after all; it rests in the abiding 
significance of his work — or the lack of it — 
as to whether this fame is perpetuated. That 
of Mr. Story does not hold within itself all the 
qualities that insure the appreciation of the 
present day. It is, as the critic of the hour 
expresses himself, "too literary,** — too largely 
a question of classic titles which appealed to 
the mid-nineteenth-century authors whose judg- 
ment of art the twentieth century finds particu- 



laxly amusing. Henry James has somewhere 
held up to ridicule the early Beacon Hill Boston 
for its impassioned devotion to the "atten- 
uated outlines" of Flaxman's art. But the 
work of Story will survive all transient varia- 
tions of opinion, even of the present realistic 
age; for is not true realism, after all, to be 
found in the eternal ideals of truth, grace^ 
dignity, refinement, significance, and beauty? 
These qualities have a message to convey; and 
no one can study with sympathetic apprecia- 
tion any sculpture of William Wetmore Story 
without feeling that the work has something to 
say; that it is not a mere reproduction of some 
form, but is, rather, an idea impersonated, and 
therefore it has life, it has significance. The 
criticism of the immediate hour is not neces- 
sarily infallible because it is contemporary. 
What does William Watson say ? 

*'A deft musician does the breeze become 
Whenever an .£olian harp it finds; 
Hornpipe and hurdy-gurdy both are dumb 
Unto the most musicianly of winds." 

It is an irretrievable loss if, in the passion 
for the vUa nvova^ a generation, or a century, 



shall substitute for the iEoIian harp the mere 
hornpipe and hurdy-gurdy of the hour. In 
another of his keenly critical quatrains William 
Watson embodies this signal truth : — 

**H]s rhymes the poet flings at all men's feet. 
And whoso will may trample on his rhymes. 
Should Time let die a song that's pure and sweet. 
The singer's loss were more than matched by Time*s/* 

Art is progressive, and the present is always 
the "heir of all the ages" preceding; but it 
cannot be affirmed that it invariably miakes the 
best use of its rich inheritance. 

There are latter-day sculptors who excel in 
certain excellences that Story lacked; still, it 
would not be his loss, but our own, if we fail 
in a due recognition of that in his art which 
may appeal to the imagination; for, whatever 
the enthusiasms of other cults may be, there are 
qualities of beauty, strength, and profound sig- 
nificance in the art of Story that must insure 
their permanent recognition. Still, it remains 
true that Mr. Story owes his fame in an incal- 
culable degree to the friendly pens of Haw- 
thorne and others of his immediate circle, — 
Lowell, Motley, Charles Eliot Norton, Thack- 



eray, Browning, — friends who, according to 
the latest standards of art criticism, were not 
unqualified nor absolute judges of art, but 
who were in sympathy with ideal expression 
and recognized this as embodied in the statues 
of Story. 

Browning wrote to the London Times an 
article on Mr. Story's work, in which he con- 
jured up most of the superlative phrases of 
commendation that the limits of the English 
language allow to praise his work, none of 
whose marshalled force was too poor to do him 
reverence. The versatile gifts of Story's per- 
sonality drew around him friends whose influ- 
ence was potent and, indeed, authoritative in 
their time. 

Still, any analysis of these conditions brings 
the searcher back to the primary truth that 
without the gifts and grace to attract about him 
an eminent circle of choice spirits he could not 
have enjoyed this potent aid and inspiration; 
and thus, that 

"Man is his own star,'* 

is an assertion that life, as well as poetry, justi- 
fies. In the full blaze of this fundamental 



tnith, it is, not unfrequently, the mysterious 
spiritual tragedy of life that many an one as 
fine of fibre and with lofty ideals 


Leads a frustrate life and blind. 
For the lack of favoring gales 
Blowing blithe on other sails." 

Mr. Story was himself of too fine an order 
not to divine this truth. With what unrivalled 
power and pathos has he expressed it in his 
poem — one far too little known — the "lo 
Victis'^ — 

'*I sing the song of the Conquered, who fell in the Battle of 

Life, — 
The hjrmn of the wounded, the beaten, who died overwhelmed 

in the strife; 
Not the jubilant song of the victors, for whom the resounding 

Of nations was lifted in chorus, whose brows wore the chaplet 

of fame. 
But the hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the 
broken in heart, 

• a ... . . 

Whose youth bore no flower on its branches, whose hopes 

burned in ashes away, 
From whose hands slipped the prize they had grasped at, who 

stood at the dying of day 
With the wreck of their life all around them. . • /* 



In this poem Mr. Story touched the highest 
note of his life, — as poet, sculptor, painter, or 
writer of prose; in no other form of expres- 
sion has he equalled the sublimity of sentiment 
in these Unes : — 

"... I stand on the field of defeat* 
In the shadow, with those who are fallen, and wounded* and 

dying, and there 
• •••••• 

Hold the hand that is helpless, and whisper, 'Th^ only the 

victory win 
Who have fought the good fight, and have vanquished the 

demon that tempts us within; 
Who have held to their faith unseduced by the prize that the 

world holds on high; 
Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, fight, — if 

need be, to die."* 

Such a poem must have its own immortality 
in lyric literature. 

For a period of forty years the home of the 
Storys in Palazzo Barberini was a noted centre 
of the most charming social life. Mr. Story's 
literary work — in his contributions of essays 
and poems to the Atlantic Monthly; in his pub- 
lished works, the "Roba di Roma," "Con* 
versations in a Studio," his collected "Poems," 
and others — gave him a not transitory rank 



in literature which rivals, if it does not ex- 
ceed, his rank in art. 

Meantime other artists were to take up their 
permanent abode in the Seven-hilled City, — 
Elihu Vedder in 1866; Franklin Simmons two 
years later; Waldo and Julian Story, the two 
sons of William Wetmore Story, though claim- 
ing Rome as their home, are American by 
parentage and ancestry; and Mr. Waldo Story 
succeeds his father in pursuing the art of sculp- 
ture in the beautiful studios in the Via San 
Martino built by the elder Story. In 1902 
Charles Walter Stetson, with his gifted wife, 
known to the contemporary literary world by 
her maiden name, Grace EUery Channing, set 
up their household gods and lighted their altar 
fires in the city by the Tiber, ready, it may be, 
to exclaim with Ovid: — 

Four times happy is he, and times without number is happy, 
Who the dty of Rome uninterdicted enjoys." 

If art is a comer of the universe seen through 
a temperament, the temperament of Mr. Vedder 
must offer an enthralling study, for it seems to be 
a lens whose power of refraction defies prophecy 
because it deals with the incalculable forces. 




His art concerns itself little with the aesthetic, 
but is chiefly the art of the intellect and the 
imagination. All manner of symbols and analo- 
gies; the laws of the universe that prevail 
beyond the stars ; the celestial figures ; the 
undreamed significance in prophecy or in des- 
tiny; omens, signs, and wonders; the world 
forces, advancing stealthily in the shadows of 
a dusky twilight; the Fates, under brilliant 
skies, gathering in the stars; oracles and super- 
natural coincidences that lurk in undreamed-of 
days; the Pleiades dancing in a light that never 
was on sea or land; unknown Shapes that meet 
outside space and time and question each 
other's identity; the dead that come forth from 
their graves and glide, silent and spectral, 
through a crowd, unseen by any one; the 
prayer of the celestial powers poured forth in 
the utter solitude of the vast desert, — it is these 
that are the realm of Vedder's art, and what 
has the normal world of portrait and landscape 
to do with such art as this ? Can it only be 
relegated to a class, an order, of its own, and 
considered as being — Vedderesque? It seems 
to stand alone and unparalleled. In his work 
lies the transfiguration of all mystery. Vedder 




never paints nature, in the sense of landscapes, 
and yet one often feels that he has the key to 
the very creation of nature; that he has supped 
with gods and surprised the secrets of the stars. 
Do the winds whisper to him ? — . 


The Muse can knit 

What is past, what is done. 

With the web that's just begun. 


How can he find the design to phrase his 
thought — this painter of ideas ? 

"Can blaze be done in cochineal. 
Or noon in mazarin ? " 

Whatever the Roman environment may have 
done for Allston, Page, and Story, there is no 
question but that to Vedder it has been as his 
souFs native air. For him the sirens sing again 
on the coast; the sorceress works her spell; the 
Cumaean Sibyl again flies, wraithlike, over the 
plain, clasping her rejected leaves of destiny 
which Tarquin in his blindness has refused to 
buy. The Rome that lies buried under the 
ages rises for Vedder. His art cannot be cata- 
logued under any known division of portrait. 


landscape, marine, or genre, but it is simply — 
the art of Vedder. It stands alone and abso- 
lutely unrivalled. The pictorial creations of 
Vedder are as wholly without precedent or 
comparison as if they were the sole pictorial 
treasures of the world. The visitor may care 
for them, or not care, according to his own 
ability to comprehend and to recognize the 
inscrutable genius there manifested; but in 
either case he will find nowhere else, in either 
ancient or contemporary art, any parallel to 
these works. 

One could well fancy that to any interroga- 
tion of his conceptions the artist might reply : — 

'^I am seeker of the stone* 
Liying gem of Solomon. 
But what is land, or what is wave. 
To me, who only jewels crave ? 

• • • • . 

I'm all-knowing, yet unknowing; 
Stand not, pause not in my going/* 

In the rich, weird realm of Omar Khayyam's 
Persian poem, the Rubaiyat, Mr. Vedder found 
the opportunity of his life for translating its 
thought into strange, mystic symbolism. Never 



were artist and poet so blended in one as 
in Vedder's wonderful illustrations for this 
poem. It has nothing in common with what 
we ordinarily call an illustrated work. It is a 
great treasure of art for all the ages. It is 
a very fount of inspiration for painter and 
poet. An exquisite sonnet suggested by "The 
Angel of the Darker Cup" is the following by 
Louise Chandler Moulton: — 

** She bends her lovely head to taste thy draught, 

O thou stem Angel of the Darker Cup! 

With thee to-night in the dim shades to sup. 
Where all they be who from that cup have quaffed. 
She had been glad in her own loveliness, and laughed 

At Life's strong enemies who lie in wait; 

Had kept with golden youth her queenly state* 
All unafraid of Sorrow's threat'ning shaft. 

'!Then human Grief found out her human heart. 
And she was fain to go where pain is dumb; 
So Thou wert welcome. Angel dread to see. 
And she fares onward with thee, willingly. 
To dwell where no man loves, no lovers part, — 
Thus Grief that is, makes welcome Death to come.** 

The sonnet, the stanza, and the pictorial 
interpretation all form one beautiful trio in 
poetic and graphic art. 



Writing of Mr. Vedder, Mr. W. C. Brownell 
speaks of the personal force in a picture and 
says that with Vedder this personal force is im- 
agination, — **the imagination of a man whose 
natural expression is pictorial, but who is a man 
as well as a painter; who has lived as well as 
painted, who has speculated, pondered, and felt 
much. ... It is this," he continues, **that 
places Vedder in the front rank of the imagina- 
tive painters of the day." Of Mr. Vedder *s 
painting called **The Enemy Sowing Tares," 
Mr. Brownell writes : — 

**. . . Here you note a dozen phases of sig- 
nificance. The theme is unconventional; the 
man has become the archenemy; the night is 
weird and awe-inspiring; the tares represent 
the foe of the church — money ; they are sown 
at the foot of the cross — the symbol of the 
church. . . . Mr. Vedder has not passed his 
life in Rome for nothing. His attitude is in 
harmony with the spirit of the Sistine and the 

One of the interesting and mystical works of 
Vedder is "The Soul between Doubt and 



Faith," — three heads, that of the Soul hooded 
and draped, looking before her with eyes that 
seem to discern things not seen by mortals; 
the sinister face of Doubt at the left, the serene, 
inspiring countenance of Faith at the right. It 
is a magical picture to have before one with its 
profoundly significant message. The works of 
Mr. Vedder will grow more priceless as the 
years pass by. They are pictures for the ages. 

In Mr. Ezekiel, another American artist 
whose almost lifelong home has been in Rome, 
is a sculptor whose touch and technique have 
won recognition. In a recumbent figure of 
Christ is seen one of the best examples of his 
art. It is pervaded by the classic influences in 
which he has lived. The studios of Mr. Eze- 
kiel, in the ruins of the old Baths of Caracalla, 
are very picturesque and his salon, with its 
music, its wealth of books including many rare 
and beautiful copies, and its old pictures and 
bric-a-brac, is one of the fascinating interiors of 
the Eternal City. 

The visitor who is privileged to see the Story 
studios in the Via San Martino finds Mr. Waldo 
Story occupying these spacious rooms where the 
flash of a fountain in the court, a view of the 



garden, green-walled by vines, with flowers and 
shrubs and broken statues, make the place 
alluring to dreamer and poet. In these rooms 
may be seen many of the elder Story's finest 
statues in east or marble, the "Libyan Sibyl," 
"Nemesis," "Sappho," the "Christ," "Into the 
Silent Land," and others, with many portrait 
busts, among which are those of Brownings 
Shelley, Keats, Theodore Parker, Mrs. Brown- 
ing, Marchesa Peruzzi de Medici (Edith Story), 
John Lothrop Motley, one of Story's nearer 
friends, and Lord Houghton. 

In the work of Mr. Waldo Story one admi- 
rable portrait bust is of Cecil Rhodes. A deco- 
rative work, a fountain for the Rothschild 
country estate in England, is charmingly de- 
signed as a Galatea (in bronze), standing in a 
marble shell that is drawn by Nereids and 
attended by Cupids. The happy blending of 
marble and bronze gives to this work a pleas- 
ing variety of color. Another decorative design 
is that of "Nymphs Drinking at the Foimtain 
of Love." These studios are among the most 
interesting in Rome. 

It was in 1868 that Franklin Simmons, then 
a young artist from Maine, turned to Borne as 




his artistic Mecca. Since then the Eternal City 
has always been his home, but his frequent and 
prolonged sojourns in America have kept him 
closely in touch with its national life. Mr. 
Simmons is the idealist who translates his 
vision into the actuality of the hour and who 
also exalts this actuality of the hour to the 
universality of the vision. In the creation of 
portrait busts and of the statues and monu- 
mental memorials of great men he infuses into 
them the indejBnable quality of extended rela- 
tion which relegates his work to the realm of 
the universal and, therefore, to the immortality 
of art, rather than restricting it to the temporal 
locality. Louis Gorse observes that it is not 
the absence of faults that constitutes a master- 
piece, but that it is flame, it is life, it is emotion, 
it is sincerity. Under the touch of Mr. Sim- 
mons the personal accent speaks ; to his creative 
power flame and life respond, and to no sculp- 
tor is the truth so admirably stated by M. 
Gorse more applicable. 

Mr. Simmons has been singularly fortunate 
in a wide American recognition, having received 
a liberal share of the more important commis- 
sions for great public works of sculpture. The 



splendid statue, al fresco, of the poet Long- 
fellow for his native city, Portland, was appro- 
priately the work of Mr. Simmons as a native of 
the same state; the portrait statues of General 
Grant, Gov. William King, Roger Williams, and 
Francis H. Pierrepont, all in Statuary Hall in 
the Capitol in Washington; the portrait busts of 
Grant, Sheridan, Porter, Hooker, Thomas, and 
other heroes of the Civil War; the colossal 
group of the Naval Monument at the head of 
Pennsylvania Avenue in Washington, — are all 
among the works of Mr. Simmons. 

Like all artists who, like the poet, are 
bom and not made, Mr. Simmons gave evi- 
dence of his artistic bent in his early childhood. 
After graduating from Bates College he mod- 
elled a bust of its president, and a little 
later, going to Washington (in the winter of 
1865-66), many of the noted men of the time 
gave him sittings, and in a series of portrait 
busts his genius impressed itself by its dignity 
of conception and an unusual power of sympa- 
thetic interpretation. He modelled the bust of 
Grant while he was the GeneraFs guest in 
camp, taking advantage of whatever spare 
minutes General Grant could give for sittings 



in the midst of his pressing responsibilities; and 
it is perhaps due to this unusually intimate 
intercourse with the great hero, and the rapporty 
not difficult of establishment, between two men 
whose natures were akin in a certain noble sin- 
cerity and lofty devotion to the purest ideals, 
that Mr. Simmons owes the power with which 
he has absolutely interpreted the essential char- 
acteristics of General Grant in that immortal 
portrait statue in the Capitol. 

Washington is, indeed, the place to especially 
study the earlier work of Franklin Simmons. 
An important one is the Logan memorial, — an 
equestrian statue which is considered the jBnest 
work in sculpture in the capital, and which is 
the only statue in the United States in which 
both the group and the pedestal are of bronze. 
The visitor in Washington who should be igno- 
rant of the relative rank of the great men com- 
memorated by the equestrian memorial monu- 
ments of the city might be justified in believing 
that General Logan was the most important 
man of his time, if he judged from the relative 
greatness of his statue. When Congress de- 
cided upon this group, Mr. Simmons was 
requested to prepare a model. This proving 



eminently acceptable, Mr. Simmons found him- 
self, quite to his own surprise, fairiy laimched 
on this arduous work, involving years of intense 
concentration and labor. For this monumental 
work was to be not merely that of the brave 
and gallant military leader, — a single idea em- 
bodied, as in those of Grenerals Scott, Sheridan, 
Thomas, and others, — but it was to be a per- 
manent interpretation of the soldier-statesman, 
mounted on his battle-horse; it was to be, in 
the comprehensive grasp of Mr. Simmons, the 
vital representation of the complex life and 
individuality of General Logan and, even more, 
it must reflect and suggest the complex spirit 
of his age. In this martial figure was thus em- 
bodied a manifold and mysterious relation, as 
one of the potent leaders and directive powers 
in an age of tumultuous activities; an age of 
strife and carnage, whose goal was peace; of 
adverse conditions and reactions, whose mani- 
fest outcome was yet prosperity and national 
greatness and splendid moral triumph. All 
these must be suggested in the atmosphere, so 
to speak, of the artist's work; and no sculptor 
who was not also an American — not merely 
by ancestry and activity, but one in mind and 


heart only; one who was an intense patriot and 
identified with national ideas — could ever have 
produced such a work as that of the Logan 
monument. So unrivalled does it stand, unique 
among all the equestrian art of this country, 
that it enchants the art student and lover with 
its indefinable spell. When this colossal work 
was cast in bronze, in Rome, the event was 
considered important. The king and the 
Royal family visited the studio of Mr. Simmons 
to see the great group, and so powerfully did 
its excellence appeal to King Umberto that he 
knighted Mr. Simmons, making him Cavaliere 
of the Crown of Italy. Nor was Mr. Simmons 
the prophet who was not without honor save in 
his own country, for his alma mater gave him 
the degree of M.A. in 1867; Colby College 
honored him with the Master's degree in 1886, 
and in 1888 Bowdoin bestowed upon this emi- 
nent Maine artist the same degree. In 1892 
Mr. Simmons married the Baroness von Jein- 
sen, a brilUant and beautiful woman who, 
though a lady of foreign title, was an American 
by birth. An accomplished musician, a critical 
lover of art, and the most deUghtful of hostesses 
and friends, Mrs. Simmons drew around her a 


remarkable circle of charming people and made 
their home in the Palazzo Tamagno a notable 
centre of social life. No woman in the Ameri- 
can colony of the Seven-hilled City was ever 
more beloved; and it was frequently noted by 
guests at her weekly receptions that Mrs. Sim- 
mons was as solicitous for the enjoyment of 
the most unknown stranger as for those of 
rank and title who frequented her house. Her 
grace and loveliness were fully equalled by her 
graciousness and that charm of personality 
peculiarly her own. Her death in Rome, on 
Christmas of 1905, left a vacant place, indeed, 
in many a home which had been gladdened by 
her radiant presence. One of the most beauti- 
ful works of Mr. Simmons is a portrait of his 
wife in bas-relief, representing her standing just 
at the opening of parted curtains, as if she 
were about to step behind and vanish. It is 
a very poetic conception. A bust of Mrs. Sim- 
mons, also, in his studio, is fairly a speaking 
likeness of this beautiful and distinguished 
woman. It is over her grave in the Protestant 
cemetery that Mr. Simmons has placed one of 
his noblest ideal statues, "The Angel of the 
Resurrection,*' — a memorial monument that is 


"grief and histoby," detail from naval monument, washisoton 
Franklin Simmons 

Fagf 105 ^ 


one of the art features of Rome to the visitor 
in the Eternal City. 

The brilliant and impressive Naval Monu- 
ment, or Monument of Peace, as it is known in 
Washington, placed at the foot of Capitol Hill 
on Pennsylvania Avenue, is eloquent with the 
power of heroic suggestion that Mr. Simmons 
has imparted to it. The work breathes that 
exaltation of final triumph that follows tempo- 
rary defeat. Those who died that the nation 
might live, are seen in the perpetual illumina- 
tion of immortality. Not only has Mr. Sim- 
mons here perpetuated the suffering, the 
sacrifices of the Civil War, but that sublime 
and eternal truth of victory after defeat, of 
peace and serene exaltation after conflict, and 
the triumph of life after death, are all immor- 
tally embodied in this group crowned with those 
impressive and haunting figures, "Grief" and 
"History,*^ which are considered as among the 
most classically beautiful and significant in the 
range of modem sculpture. 

In the early winter of 1907 Mr. Simmons 
was invited by the American Ambassador to 
the Court of St. James, Hon. Whitelaw Reid, 
to send for Dorchester House, London, three 



busts of distinguished Americans, — those of 
Alexander Hamilton, Chief Justice Chase, and 
Hon. James G. Blaine, which Mr. Reid, in visit- 
ing the Roman studios of Mr. Simmons, had seen 
and greatly admired. The Ambassador observed 
that he '^ would like a few Americans, as well 
as so many Roman Emperors," about him. 

These portrait busts all reveal an amazing 
force and mastery of work. The fine sculp- 
tural effect of the Hamilton and the wonderful 
blending of subtle delicacy of touch and vigor 
of treatment with which the nobility of char- 
acter is expressed, mark this bust as something 
exceptional in portrait art. It has a matchless 
dignity and serene poise. The bust of Chief 
Justice Chase is a faithful and speaking repro- 
duction of the very presence of its subject, 
instinct with vitality; and the fire and force 
and brilliancy of the bust of Hon. James G. 
Blaine fairly sweeps the visitor off his feet. 
The modelling is done with an apparent instan- 
taneousness of power that is the highest realiza- 
tion of creative art. It is the magnetic Blaine, 
the impassioned and eloquent statesman, that 
rises before the gazer. 

Mr. Sinmions has long been a commanding 



figure in plastic art. No American sculptor 
abroad has, perhaps, received so many important 
pubHc commissions a^ have been given to him. 
He has created nearly a score of memorial 
groups; he has modelled over one hundred por- 
trait busts and statues. His industry has kept 
step with his genius. The latest success of Mr. 
Simmons m the Une of monumental art is the 
statue (in bronze) of Alexander Hamilton, 
which was unveiled at Paterson, N. J., in May 
of 1907. The splendidly poised figure, the dig- 
nity, the serene strength and yet the intense 
energy of the expression and of the entire pose 
are a revelation in the art of the portrait statue. 
It is not, however, true that Mr. Simmons 
has ever resigned himself to the necessity of 
producing portrait and memorial sculpture ex- 
clusively. In the realm of the purely ideal Mr. 
Simmons finds his most felicitous field for crea- 
tive work. A bas-relief entitled "The Genius 
of Progress Leading the Nations," with all its 
splendid fire and action, the motif being that of 
the spirits Life and Light beating down and 
driving out the spirits of darkness and evil; 
"The Angel of the Resurrection,*' with its glad, 
triumphant assertion of the power of the im- 



mortal life; the poetry and sacredness of mater* 
nity as typified in the "Mother of Moses;** the 
statues of the "Galatea" and the "Medusa," 
and other ideal creations, indicate "the vision 
and the faculty divine " of Mr. Simmons. To a 
very great degree his art is that which the 
French describe as the grand manner, and to 
this is added a spiritual quality, a power of 
radiating the intellectual purpose, the pro- 
founder thought and the aspiration of the sub- 
ject represented. 

One of the most charming of these ideal 
works is a statue of "Penelope," represented 
seated in the chair, her rich robe falling in 
graceful folds, and the little Greek fillet bind- 
ing her hair. The face bears a meditative ex- 
pression, into which has entered a hint of pathos 
and wistfulness in the dawning wonder as to 
whether, after all, Ulysses will return. The 
classic beauty of the pose; the exquisite model- 
ling of the bust and arms and hands, every 
curve and contour so ideally lovely; the distinc- 
tion of the figure in its noble and refined patri- 
cian elegance, are combined to render this work 
one that well deserves immortality in art, and 
to rank as a masterpiece in modem sculpture. 



^ I 

3 = s 



Another of his ideal figures, ** The Promised 
Land,*' is a work of great spiritual exaltation 
and beauty. An Israelite woman has just ar- 
rived at the point when before her vision gleams 
the "Promised Land"; the face tells its own 
story of all she has passed through, — the trials, 
the sadness, the obstacles to be overcome; but 
now she sees the fulfilment of her hopes and 
dreams. It is a most interesting creation, and 
one in which is portrayed the artist's spiritual 
insight and susceptibility to poetic exaltation. 
To one visitor to Mr. Simmons's studio this 
statue suggested the following lines: — 

Fair on her sight it gleams, — the Promised Landf 
The rose of dawn sifts through the azure air, 
And all her weariness and toil and care 

Vanish, as if from her some tender hand 
Lifted the burden, and transformed the hour 
To this undreamed-of sense of joy and power! 

The rapture and the ecstasy divine 
Are deep realities that only wait 
Their hour to dawn, nor ever rise too late 

To draw the soul to its immortal shrine. 

O Sculptor! thy great gift has shaped this clay. 
To image the profoundest truth, and stand 

As witness of the spirit power that may 
Achieve the vision of the Promised Land! 



In a statuette in bronze called "Valley 
Forge," Mr. Simmons has fairly incarnated the 
entire spirit of the Revolutionary period in that 
mysterious way recognized only in its result; 
all that unparalleled epoch of tragic intensity 
and subUme triumph Uves again in this work. 
The fidelity to a lofty ideal which essentially 
characterizes Mr. Simmons is as unswerving as 
that of Merlm, who followed "The Gleam." 

'fGieat the Master 
And sweet the Magic 
When over the vall^ 
In early simimers» 
Over the moimtain» 
On human f aoes» 
And all around me 
Moving to melody. 
Floated the Gleam/' 

This American sculptor who, in his early 
youth, sought the artistic atmosphere of Rome 
as the environment most stimulating to his 
dawning power, who accepted with unfailing 
courage the incidental privations of art life in 
a foreign land more renowned for beauty than 
for comfort, who 

" • • • never turned his back, but marched breast forward* 
Never doubted clouds would break,'' 



has expressed his message in many purely ideal 
works, — the message that the true artist must 
always give to the world and that leads human- 
ity to the crowning truth of life, that of the 
ceaseless progress of the soul in its immortality. 
For the brief and significant assertion of 
the apostle condenses the most profound truth 
of life when he says: — 

''To be camaUj minded is death; but to be spirituallj 
minded is life and peace." 

In these wordjs are imaged the supreme pur- 
pose of all the experiences of the life on earth; 
and to the artist whose works bear this lofty 
message of the triumph of spirituality, his re- 
ward shall appear, not in the praise of men, 
but in the effect on character that his efforts 
have aided to exalt; in the train of nobler influ- 
ences that his work shall perpetually inspire 
and create. 

Mr. Simmons has always found Rome potent 
in fascination. One may not want to go to 
St. Peter's every day, but one knows it is there, 
and there is some inexplicable satisfaction in 
being where it is possible to easily enter this 
impressive interior. One may not go near the 



Forum for a month, or even a season, but the 
knowledge that one may find it and the wonder- 
ful Palatine Hill any hour of any day is a per- 
petual delight. The Vatican galleries, with 
their great masterpieces; the Sistine Chapel, the 
stately, splendid impressiveness • of San Giovanni 
Laterano ; the wanderings in Villa Borghese, and 
the picturesque climbing of the Spanish steps, 
even all the inconveniences and deprivations, 
become a part of the story of Roine which the 
artist absorbs and loves. 

The studios of Mr. Simmons in the Via San 
Nicolo da Tolentino are a centre of artistic 
resort, and his personal life is one of distinc- 
tion amid the picturesque beauty and enchant- 
ment of the Eternal City. 

For many years (until the death of Mrs. 
Simmons in 1905) the sculptor and his wife had 
their home in the beautiful Palazzo Tamagno 
in the Via Agostino Depretis, where one of 
those spacious apartments of twenty to thirty 
rooms, only to be found in a Roman palace, was 
made by them a brilliant centre of social life, 
Mrs. Simmons was herself a musical artist, with 
impassioned devotion to music ; and her rare per- 
sonal charm and distinction of presence drew 



around her a most interesting circle. Her re- 
ceptions were for many years a noted feature of 
Roman society. The social life in Rome is 
very brilliant, interesting, and fascinating. The 
sight-seeing is a kind of attendant atmosphere, 
— the perpetual environment oflFering, but not 
intruding itself. People come to Rome for rea- 
sons quite disconnected with the Golden House 
of Nero or the latest archseological discoveries 
in the Forum. The present, rather than the 
past, calls to them, and the present, too, is 
resplendent and alluring. 

Of the foreign painters in Rome, Charles 
Walter Stetson, whose work recalls the glory 
of the old Italian masters, is especially distin- 
guished for his genius as a colorist. No visitor 
in Rome can afford to miss the studio of one of 
the most imaginative of modem artists. A 
wonderful picture still in process is a genre 
work with several figures, called "Music." An 
idyllic scene of a festa amid the ilex trees — 
with the Italian sky and the golden sunshine 
pervading a luminous atmosphere, while the joy- 
ous abandon of the dancers appeals to all who 
love Italy — is one of the many beautiful pic- 
torial scenes of Mr. Stetson which enchant the 



eye and haunt the imagination. Another pic- 
ture is called "Beggars," — a name that illy 
suggests its splendor. There is the fa9ade of 
a church to which a long flight of steps leads 
up, a procession of cardinals and friars in their 
rich robes, while at one side the groups of 
beggars shrink into the darkness. It is an 
impressive conmientary upon life. 

For a long period, through the early and 
middle years of the nineteenth century, Rome 
held her place as the world centre of modem 
artistic activity. Great works of poetic and 
ideal sculpture elevated the general public taste 
to a high degree of appreciation. The stand- 
ards were not ingeniously adjusted to mere 
spectacular methods whose sole appeal was to 
the crude fancy of possible patrons. Art held 
her absolute and inviolate ideals, and the spirit 
of her votaries might well have been interpreted 
in Mrs. Browning's words: — 

"I, who love my art, 
Would never wish it lower to suit my stature. 

The tone of public appreciation is raised to 
a high quality only when the artist refuses to 
sell his soul for a mess of pottage. He may, 



to be sure, need the pottage, but the price is 
too great. Rather will he find his attitude ex- 
pressed in these wonderful lines: — 

"I can live 
At least my soul's life without alms from men* 
And if it be in heaven instead of earth, 
Let heaven look to it — I am not afraid.'* 

All art that has within itself true vitality must 
ever be the leader and the creator of the popu- 
lar taste; only when it falls into decadence does 
it become the servile follower. 

It is a serious question as to the degree in 
which the art of to-day keeps faith with the 
eternal ideals. The great expositions of the 
past quarter of a century, while they have con- 
tributed immeasurably to the popularization of 
art and to the familiarization of the public with 
the work of individual painters and sculptors, 
have yet, in many ways, been a demoralizing 
influence in their insidious temptation to pro- 
duce pictures or plastic art calculated to arrest 
immediate attention, thus putting a premium 
on the spectacular, the sensational, on that 
which makes the most immediate and direct 
appeal to the senses. The work becomes fairly 



a personal document wrought with perhaps an 
almost amazing finesse, but utterly failing in 
power to inspire joyous sensibility to beauty 
or to impart to the gazer that glow of radiant 
energy which lofty art invariably communicates 
to all who respond to its infinite exaltation. 

All great art is inspired by religious ideals. 
Painting and sculpture give to these a presence. 
Under their creative power are these ideals 
manifested. To embody them in living form 
becomes the absolute responsibility of the artist. 
In Greece all the fortunate conditions to pro- 
duce great art were curiously combined and pre- 
eminently supported by the conjunction of events 
and by the prevailing sentiment of the time. 
The artist drew his inspiration from the most 
exalted conception of life embodied in gods 
rather than in men. Art, too, was an affair 
of the state. It was the supreme interest and 
held national importance- The temple was 
erected to form an inclosure for the statue, 
rather than that the statue was created as an 
adornment for the temple. The greatest gifts 
were consecrated to the service of art, and under 
these stimulating influences it is little wonder 
that artistic creation achieved that vital potency 


"valley fohoe" 

Franklin SiniroonB 

Page 110 



which has thrilled all succeeding centuries and 
has communicated to them something of the 
divine air of that remote period. With the 
Renaissance in Italy art culminated in the im- 
mortal work of Raphael and Michael Angelo. 
In the Sistine Chapel, where that sublime 
grouping of prophets and sibyls speaks of the 
very miracle of art in their impassioned fire and 
glow; where the figures, the pose, the draperies 
are so grandly noble and infused with dignity 
and presence, — the very atmosphere is vocal 
with the language of the spirit and the expres- 
sions of religious reverence. These marvellous 
shapes of* grandeur and sublime intimations 
carry the soul into a conscious communion with 
the divine. In these stupendous works Michael 
Angelo has given to all the ages the messs^e of 
the highest exaltation of art. In the technique, 
in the marvellous dignity of the sentiment, in 
the depth of the feeling involved, in the grace 
and power of the composition, these works 
embody the artistic possibilities of painting. 

Are such works as those of Canova and 
Thorwaldsen no longer created ? 

Can it be that art is no longer of national 
importance? In our own country vast appro- 



priations are made for internal improvements 
of all kinds, while art that kindles and re- 
enforces life is almost ignored. Our government 
— the government of the richest country in the 
world — appropriated $200,000 for a memorial 
monument to General Grant to be placed in 
Washington, while Italy — whose resources are so 
slender in comparison — appropriates seven mil- 
lion dollars — thirty-five times the amount — for 
her great monument to Victor Emmanuel which 
is now being erected in Rome to stand near the 
Capitol and the Palace of the Quirinale. Great 
art has always been closely associated with 
great devotion to religious ideals. The artist 
was the servant of the Lord, and it was his 
supreme purpose to embody the aspirations of 
the age and render his works a full and com- 
plete symbol of those true realities of life which 
have their being in the spiritual universe rather 
than in the changing temporal world of the outer 
universe. The so-called realism of the day is 
based on a false interpretation. "The things 
that are seen are temporal, while the things that 
are not seen are eternal." True realism is in 
spiritual qualities, not in physical attributes. 
True realism is found in such works as Canova*s 



sublime group, where the figures of Religion 
and of Death forever impress all who stand 
before this magnificent monument; it is found 
in Thorwaldsen's "Christ;*' in Franklin Sim- 
mons's "Angel of the Resurrection," — in such 
works as those that have a language for the 
soul, rather than in a "Saturnalia." 

Again, another fatal rock on which art must 
inevitably make shipwreck is the theory that it 
is good to perpetuate ugliness, in either paint- 
ing or in sculpture. The permanent reality of 
life is beauty. So far as any person or object 
departs from this enduring reaUty, so far it is 
the result of distortion and deformity, and these, 
being the temporary, the accidental, the deficient, 
should not be perpetuated in ideal creation. 
It is an Apollo who embodies the permanent 
ideal of manhood — not a cripple or a hunch- 
back. Still further: art should not only refuse 
to embody the defective, which is a mere nega- 
tive; it should not only give form to the utmost 
perfection it beholds in nature or in humanity, 
but beyond this the responsibility is upon the 
artist to penetrate into loftier realms, to catch 
the vision not revealed to mortals. The artist 
is, by virtue of his high calling, a co-worker 



with God. An English wit has declared that 
life copies art rather than that art copies life. 
In this he expresses a truth rather than a merely 
clever epigram. It is the artist's business to 
lead, not to follow. Only as he leads does he 
fulfil his divinely appointed destiny. "I main- 
tain that life is not a form of energy/' writes 
Sir Oliver Lodge; "that it is not included in 
our present physical categories ; that its explana- 
tion is still to be sought. And it appears to me 
to belong to a separate order of existence, 
which interacts with this material frame of 
things, and while here exerts guidance and con- 
trol on the energy which already here exists; 
for although they alter the quantity of energy 
no whit, and though they merely utilize avail- 
able energy like any other machine, live things 
are able to direct inorganic terrestrial energy 
along new and special paths, so as to achieve 
results without which such living agency could 
not have occurred." Does it for an instant seem 
that a great scientist's theoretical speculations of 
the laws of the universe and of organic life have 
no connection with the province of art? On 
the contrary. Truly does Balzac exclaim: "Is 
not God the whole of science, the all of love, 



MicWI Angelo 
Pagg 117 


the source of poetry?*' The artist is he who 
enters into the divine realm; who discerns the 
divine creations as the true ideals of humanity, 
and who interprets to the world the sublime 
significance of the divine thought. Shall such 
an artist degrade his power by portraying ugli- 
ness — the mere defects of negations and dis- 
tortions ? Shall he degrade life by calling these 
the realities? 

The painter or sculptor who holds that it is 
as truly art to represent distortion and repul- 
siveness as it is to represent beauty is as false 
to his high calling as would be the poet who 
should insist that doggerel and mere common- 
place truisms eicpressed in rhyme are poetry. 
Compare, for example, two statues, Cecioni's 
**ia MadrCy** in which a woman's utter lack of 
personal attraction is so complete as to make 
her fairly repulsive to the gazer, and the 
"Mother of Moses," by Franklin Simmons, in 
which the mystic beauty, the very ideal of mater- 
nity, is embodied. Which of these statues is 
calculated to uplift and to exalt all who come 
near? This marvellously beautiful creation of 
Mr. Simmons shows a woman of exquisite deli- 
cacy and loveliness sitting, slightly bending for- 



ward, holding her baby to her breast. The 
modelling of the draped figure with the bare 
arms and neck revealing the tender curves, the 
yielding delicacy of the flesh and that inscrutable 
light upon the beautiful countenance, whose 
expression suggests that she is looking far into 
the future of the infant whom she holds in 
her arms, are a wonderful portrayal of the 
mystery and the sacredness of motherhood. 
The one statue degrades maternity; the other 
ennobles and exalts. The one embodies a per- 
nicious and a false ideal; the other embodies 
the ideal that must appeal to all that is noble 
and divine in human life, and it thus ministers 
to moral progress by its contribution to the 
elevation of the social tone. For indeed, life 
follows art. It is art that exerts this powerful 
influence upon life which it may lead to loftier 
heights or drag down to the moral abyss. The 
artist is not merely the portrayer of existing 
types; he is the inspirer of those ideal types 
which human life should recognize as its pattern, 
its model to be followed and ultimately achieved. 
The world needs ideal and poetic art to minister 
to the attainment of the true social life and to the 
full and complete expression of man himself. 



Do not the visions of Fra Angelico and Botti- 
celli still inspire the artist of to-day with the 
absolute realization of all the deep significance 
of the past? 

^Is there never a retroaoope mirror. 
In the reahns and comers of space. 
That can give us a ^impse of the battle, 
And the soldiers face to face?'* 

Religion and art are inseparably united. In 
its true significance religion takes precedence 
of all else in that its influence is felt in 
every department and in every direction 
and expression of man's activity. It is the 
inexhaustible fountain of that lofty energy 
which communicates itself to every channel 
that carries inspiration to life and to art. 
Religion is the influence that redeems the 
mere shallow, surface presentation, — the petty 
trick to capture popularity, and holds art 
true to its real purpose. The glory of the 
mediaeval art of Italy owed its greatness to 
religion. Cimabue and Giotto were directly 
inspired by that spring of a diviner life 
given to Italy and later to the world of 
that '^ sweet saint/' Francis of Assisi. In an 
age of cruelty and terror he brought the 



new message that man is dear to God; that 
the soul is ceaselessly joyful; that man, cre- 
ated in the divine image, is a part of the 
divine life, and that only when he lives in 
this response and recognition does he truly 
live at all. In this restatement of the truth 
that Jesus came to proclaim, St. Francis 
opened the way for a revival of art, and 
opened the gates of that infinite and divine 
energy which has immortally recorded itself for 
all ages in the ''Divina Comedia" of Dante. 
The irresistible wave of power which resulted 
from that liberating of thought, feeling, and 
emotion by the work of St. Francis expressed 
itself in the sublimest poem of all the ages, and 
in that glorious triumph of art that is still the 
treasure and the source of artistic inspira- 

It is only when the world is lifted out of the 
limitations of the material by a period of great 
art that humanity is brought into close and 
inspiring relation with the living Christ. 


Men and women make (he world. 
As head and heart make human life, 

Mbs. Bbowninq. 

Aloe, our memories may retrace 
Each dreuTnstance of time and place; 
Season and scene coms back again. 
And ouhjDord things vnchanged remain; 
The rest we cannot reinstate, 
OvTsdves we cannot recreate. 
Nor set our souls to the same key 
Of the remembered harmony, 


And OBf after the lapee of a ifunuand years, you stand upon 
that hallowed spot, the yellow Tiber fhudng sluggishly beneath 
you, the ruins of the Eternal City all around you speaking of 
fallen greatness^ the mighty Basilica of St. Peter rising before 
you Uke some modem tower of Babd that would monopolize the 
road to heaven, the eye rests upon the figure of the Archangd 
sheathing his glittering sword upon the summit of the Castle of 
St AngdOf and the heart asks. Why should that be a legend? 
Why should that be a projection of a morbid and devout imagina- 
tionf Why should ii not have been the clairvoyance of super- 
natural ecstasy opening the world of spirits t It was no unrealUy 
when the angel of Ood, with his sword drawn in his hand, with- 
stood the prophet Balaam, It woa no morbid imagiruxtion when 
the angel of Ood smote with the edge of the sword the first-born 
of the land of Egypt. It was no imposture when the shining 
hosts of the army of the Almighty smote the Assyrians. It was 
no deception when Oabrid, the King*s messenger from the court 
of heaven, was sent to comfort Daniel by the river Hiddekd; 
or when he announced to the maiden, whom all generations have 
called blessed, that she v)as to be the mother of the Divine Re- 
deemer. . . . The written Word from first to last is full of the 
holy angds. It begins with angels, it ends with angels. 

Thb Venerable Abchdeacon WiiiBERFORCB» 

Westminster Abbey. 



And others cune, — Desiies and Adorationa, 
Winged Persuasions and Veiled DestiniesI 

In what ethereal dances! 
By what eternal streams! 


Social life in Rome is no misnomer. From the 
most stately and beautiful ceremonials of balls 
at the court of the Quirinale, in ducal palaces, 
or at the embassies; of dinners whose every 
detail suggests stage pictures in their magnifi- 
cence, to the simple afternoon tea, where con- 
versation and music enchant the hours; the 
morning call en tete-Orl^y and the morning 
stroll, or the late afternoon drive, — a season in 
Rome prefigures itself, by the necromancy of 
retrospective vision, as a resplendent panorama 
of pictorial scenes. There rise before one those 
mornings, all gold. and azure, of loitering over 
the stone parapet on Monte Pincio, gazing down 



on the city in her most aUuring mood. The 
new bridge that is to connect the Pincio with 
the Villa Borghese is a picturesque feature in 
its unfinished state; but the vision traverses the 
deep ravine and revels in the scene of the 
Borghese grounds carpeted with flowers. Its 
picturesque slopes under the great trees, with 
a view of Michael Angelo's dome in the near 
distance, are the resort of morning strollers, 
who find that lovely picture of Charles Walter 
Stetson's — a stretch of landscape under the 
ilex trees, the scarlet gowns of the divinity 
students giving vivid accents of color here and 
there — fairly reproduced in nature before their 
vision. One should never be in haste as the 
bewildering beauty of the Roman spring weaves 
its emerald fantasies on grass and trees, and 
touches into magical bloom the scarlet poppies 
that flame over all the meadows, and caress 
roses and hyacinths and lilies of the valley into 
delicate bloom and floating fragrance until the 
Eternal City is no more Rome, but Arcady, 
instead — one should never be in haste to toss 
his penny into the ForUane de Trevi. Yet in 
another way it may work for him an immediate 
spell that defies all other necromancy. Judi- 



ciously thrown in, on the very eve of departure, 
it is the conjurer that insures his return; but at 
any time prior to this it may even weave the 
irresistible enchantment that falls upon him and 
may prevent his leaving at all. Nor can he 
summon up the moral courage to regret even 
the missing of all other engagements, and the 
failure to keep faith with his plans. For in 
the May days Rome falls upon him anew, like 
a revelation, and he is ready to confess that he 
has never seen her who sees her not in her 
springtime loveliness. The Italian winter by no 
means lives up to its reputation. It is not the 
chill of any one special day that discourages 
one from any further effort to continue in this 
vale of tears, but the cold that has, apparently, 
the chill and dampness and cold of all those 
two thousand and two hundred and sixty win- 
ters that have gone before which concentrate 
themselves in the atmosphere. One could pre- 
sumably endure with some degree of courage, if 
not equanimity, the chill in the air of any one 
winter; but when all the chill and cold that has 
ever existed in more than the two thousand 
winters of the past concentrates itself in the 
winter, say, of 1906-7, why, patience ceases 



to be a yirtue although one that the sojourner 
in Ronie is particularly called upon to practise 
if he fares forth to visit churches and galleries 
in the winter. 

Torrents of rain pour down, rivalling the 
cloud-bursts of Arizona. Virgil's cave of the 
winds apparently lets loose its sharpest blasts. 
Tramontana and sirocco alternate, and each is 
more unendurable than the other. 

The encircling mountains are white with 
snow. The streets are a sea of mud, for they 
are paved with small stones, and except in the 
new Villa Ludovisi quarter and along the Via 
Nazionale and a few other of the newer thorough- 
fares there are no sidewalks, the foot passen- 
gers (in all old Rome) pressing close to the 
wall to avoid the dangerously near proximity 
of carts and cabs. This rough pavement makes 
all driving hard and walking difficult. The 
Roman lady, indeed, does not walk; and the 
visitors who cannot forego the joy of daily 
promenades enter into the feelings of that 
nation which is said to take its pleasures sadly. 
But spring works a transformation scene. The 
air is filled with the most transparent shining 
haze ; the sky lacks little of that intense, melting 



blue that characterizes the iiie£Fable beauty of 
the skies in Arizona; and ruins and fragments 
and strange reUcs — ghosts of the historic past 
— are all enshrined in trailing green and riotous 
blossoms. To drive on the terraced roads of 
Monte Mario with all Rome and the emerald- 
green Campagna before one; through the 
romantic "Lovers* Lane/* walled in by roses 
and myrtle ; to enjoy the local life, full of gayety 
and brilliancy, is to know Rome in her most 
gracious aspects. One goes for strolls in the 
old Colonna Gardens, where still remain the 
ruins of the Temple of the Sun and of the 
Baths of Constantine. The terraces offer lovely 
views over the city. The old palace is occu- 
pied by the present Prince Colonna, and it is 
not unfrequently the scene of most elaborate 
and gorgeous receptions where the traditional 
Roman splendor is to be found. A series of 
arched bridges over the narrow street of the 
Via della Pilotta connect the Gardens with the 
Colonna Palace in the Piazza San Apostoli. 
Very fine old sarcophagi are half buried in 
trailing vines on the slope of the hill, dark with 
magnificent cypress trees. The Colonna Gar- 
dens are a very dream of the past, in their ruins 



of old temples, their shattered statues, their 
strange old tablets and inscriptions, and their 
grand view of the Capitol. 

In one's retrospective vision of a Roman 
season all the inconveniences and discomforts 
of the winter disappear, leaving only the beauty 
and the enjoyment to be "developed," as the 
photographer would say, on the sensitive plate 
of memory. 

No one really knows Rome until he has 
watched the transcendent loveliness of spring 
investing every nook and comer of the Eternal 
City. The picturesque Spanish steps are a very 
garden of fragrance, the lower steps of the ter- 
raced flight being taken possession of by the 
flower venders who display their wares, — 
masses of white lilac, flame-colored roses, rose 
and purple hyacinths and baskets of violets and 
carnations. Did all this fragrance and beauty 
send up its incense to Keats as he lay in the 
house adjoining, with the musical plash of Ber- 
nini's fountain under his window ? It is pleas- 
ant to know that by the appreciation of 
American and English authors, the movement 
effectively directed by Robert Underwood John- 
son, this house consecrated to a poet's memory 



has been purchased to be a permanent memorial 
to Keats and to Shelley. A library of their 
works will be arranged in it; and portraits, busts, 
and all mementos that can be collected of 
these poets will render this memorial one of the 
beautiful features of Rome. 

From the flower venders and the circulating 
libraries in the Piazza di Spagna that allure one 
in the morning, from the fascinating glitter of 
the little Via Condotti which is, in its way, the 
rue de la Paix of Rome, one leisurely climbs 
the steps to where the great obelisk looms up 
in front of the Convent Church of the TrinitJi 
di Monti and on, across the Piazza di Trinita, 
toward the Pincian, one wanders along the 
brow of the hill surmounted by the low stone 
parapet. The view is a dream of beauty. Over 
the valley lies Monte Mario, crowned with the 
Villa Madama, silhouetted against the blue 
Roman sky; and the commanding dome of St. 
Peter's, the splendid new white marble build- 
ings of the Law Courts, the domes of other 
churches, all make up a picturesque panorama, 
while on the Janiculum the great equestrian 
statue of Garibaldi can be descried. Strolling 
on, one turns into the gardens of the Villa 



Medici, the French Academy of Art, in which 
the present director, the great Carolus Duran, 
is domiciled and in which twenty-four students 
— of painting, sculpture, music, and architec- 
ture — are maintained at the expense of the 
French government for several years, the twenty- 
four being chosen from those who have given 
signal proof of their ability. The Villa Medici 
has, perhaps, a more beautiful site than any 
other building in Rome. Facing the west, with 
the Janiculum and Monte Mario forever before 
it, while below lies the Piazza di Spagna and 
the Piazza del Popolo, and all the changing 
splendors of the sunset sky as a perpetual pic- 
ture gallery, the situation is, indeed, magnifi- 
cent. It is still conceivable, however, that Mon- 
sieur Carolus Duran must have many quarters 
of an hour when he longs for the brilliancy and 
the movement and the stimulus of his Paris. 
The gardens of the Villa Medici are large, but 
they are laid out with narrow paths bordered 
with box, forming a wall as impervious as if 
of stone, and dark and damp by the shade 
of foliage. These walks are paved with gravel, 
and are always damp. These formal rectangles 
and alleys are utterly shut in, so that in any one 




paxt one can see only the two dense green walls 
of box that inclose him and the glimpse of sky 
overhead, — not precisely a cheering promenade. 
This is the Italian idea of a garden. Much 
broken sculpture, weather-stained and defect- 
ive, is placed all along the way, and the 
perpetual Roman fountain is always gushing 

Another phase of the Roman season may rise 
before one in the stately beauty of any old his- 
toric palace, where the hostess, all grace and 
sweetness, receives her guests in the apartment 
in which Galileo had been confined when im- 
prisoned in Rome. The approach to this piano 
nobile was up a flight of easily graded marble 
stairs, where in frequent niches stood old 
statues. The large windows in the corridor on 
the landing were curtained with pale yellow, 
thus creating a golden light to fall on the old 
sculptured marbles. One salon was decorated 
with Flaxman's drawings on the wall, in their 
classical outlines. From a steep, dark stone 
stairway, down which one descended (at the 
imminent risk of a broken neck in the dark- 
ness and from the irregular stairs rudely carved 
in the stone), one emerged on a landing, where a 



little door opened into the balcony of the chapel, 
a curious, gloomy place, with tombs and altar 
and shrine, and some very poor old paintings. 
One's progress to it recalled the lines from 
Poe's "Ulalume": — 

By a route, obscure and lonely. 
Haunted by ill angels only." 

Then, sitting in one of the richly decorated 
salons at afternoon tea in this same old palace 
one day, while an accomplished harpist was 
discoursing delicate music from its vibrating 
chords, flights of birds kept passing a window, 
making a scene like that of a Wagner opera. 
The groups present, largely of the Roman 
nobiUty, the titled aristocracy, resembling so 
closely some of the old portraits in the palazzo 
that it was easy to recognize that they were all 
one people, descendants of the same race. 

Many of the guests looked, indeed, as if they 
had stepped from out the sumptuously carved 
frames on the wall. At these pretty festas one 
meets much of the resident Roman world. The 
guests assembled seem to be speaking in all the 
romance languages. There are Russian and 
Spanish as well as Italian, French, German, 



and English at these alluring teas. All the 
salons of the spacious apartments are thrown 
open, and the men in their picturesque court 
dress or militarjr costume, and the women and 
girls in dainty gowns, make up an alluring scene. 
The salons are richly furnished and abound in 
works of art, old pictures, inlaid cabinets, carv- 
ings, rich vases, busts, and statuettes. The 
library, with its wealth of books; the music 
room; the salon for dancing; the supper room, 
and the quiet rooms where groups gather before 
the blazing open fires, grateful in these lofty 
rooms whose temperature suggests the frozen 
circles of Dante, — all make up a delightful 
picture. One meets the most varying indi- 
vidualities. A Russian lady of title may con- 
fide her conviction that her country is ruined, 
and that she never desires to return to it. Italy 
is the country that attracts not only political 
refugees from other European countries, but 
many who are out of sympathy with conditions 
elsewhere and who find the cosmopolitan society 
and the varied interests of this land of sunshine 
their most enjoyable environment. 

One pleasant feature of a Roman winter is 
that of the usual course of lectures given by 



Professor Lanciani. The celebrated archaeolo- 
gist is a man of special personal charm, and his 
conversation, as well as his public lectures, is 
full of interest and value. The lectures are 
given under the auspices of the Societa Archeo- 
logica, and a special subject recently discussed 
was the celebration to be held in 1911 in Rome. 
One project for this celebration includes the 
plan to lay out a carriage road around the 
Forum and the Palatine, and also around 
the Baths of Titus and of Caracalla, extend- 
ing the drive to all those places included be- 
tween the Appian and the Latin Way, the Villa 
Celimontana and the Circus M aximus. 

Professor Lanciani discussed the artistic his- 
tory of Rome and the different appearances the 
city took on in different periods; the regulation 
plan drawn up by Julius Caesar and accepted 
and carried out by Augustus, by which one- 
fifth of the total area of the city was reserved 
for public parks. In the third century of the 
empire the city was inclosed by parks and 
crossed from end to end by delightful portico 
gardens, where valuable works of art were col- 
lected. During the period of the Renaissance 
there were the famous villas and the Cesarini 



Park on the slopes of the Esquiline, and after 
regretting the many unnecessary acts of van- 
daUsm committed since 1870 in Rome, Pro- 
fessor Lanciani suggested that a complete 
reconstruction of the Baths of Caracalla should 
be made, to serve in 1911 as the Exhibition 
Building. He believed no artistic difficulties 
would present themselves, as in the fifteenth 
century different architects took plaster casts 
of the decorations of the statues and of every 
detail of the Baths. The archaeological exhibi- 
tion would be arranged in the two large halls, 
another hall would be for concerts, another for 
lectures, the others for different congresses to 
be held. 

In this way Rome would inaugurate for 1911 
the Mediaeval Museum in Castel Sant' Angelo, 
the mediaeval collections in the Torre degli 
Anguillara, and the grand archaeological ex- 
hibition in the reconstructed Baths of Cara- 

Italian women are by no means behind the 
age in their organizations to aid in social prog- 
ress. The most important one in Italy is that 
of the leading women of the nobility and aris- 
tocracy, called "The Society for Women's 



Work," which holds annual meetings, over 
which Lady Aberdeen, the president of the 
International Council, and the Contessa Spal- 
letti, the president of the National Council of 
Italy, preside. Many of the prominent women 
of the Italian nobility are taking active part in 
the larger outlook for women; and in this move- 
ment Margherita, la Regina Madre, leads the 
way, supported by a large following of the 
titled nobility. 

"Margherita holds the hearts of the people," 
remarked Cora, Contessa di Brazzd Savorgnan, 
at a brilliant little dinner one night, and no 
expression could more admirably represent the 
feeling of the nation toward the Queen Mother* 

Queen Elena as the reigning sovereign has, 
of course, her exclusive royal prerogatives, and 
she has youth and initiative and precedence; 
but Margherita is a most attractive woman, 
with learning and accomplishments galore, and 
she has an art of conversation that allures and 
fascinates visiting foreigners of learning and 
wit, as well as of rank. Roman society is not 
large numerically, and the same people are con- 
stantly meeting and consolidating their many 
points of contact and interest. Social life in 



these Italian cities is the supreme occupation of 
the residents, and one must concede that in 
proportion as one meets the same people con- 
stantly does society gain in dramatic interest. 
With each person who is in any sense an indi- 
vidual the play of life begins. It gains in 
dramatic sequence as it proceeds. The Eternal 
City is a wonderful scenic setting for the human 

Local gossip suggests perceptible rivalry be- 
tween the stately palace of the King and the 
pink palace on the hill, in which Margherita 
holds her state with not less ceremony than 
that observed at the Court of the Quirinale. It 
is a beautiful thing -for a country to have in it a 
woman of high position, of leisure and of cul- 
ture, who is so admirably fitted to be the friend 
of the people as is Margherita. She is a con- 
noisseur in art; she has a most intelligent inter- 
est in science ; she is a critical lover of literature ; 
she is a wise and judicious and deeply sympa- 
thetic leader in all philanthropic work and pur- 
poses. One can hardly visit painter or poet or 
artist in any Une, or school, institute, or asso- 
ciation, but that he hears of the personal 
sympathy and encouragement bestowed by this 



noble and beautiful Italian Queen, — the Re- 
gina Madre. 

Practically there are, indeed, two courts in 
Rome; that of the Palazzo Margherita seeming 
to quite rival that held at the Palazzo Quirinale. 
The palace of the Queen Mother is an imposing 
three-story structure of pink-hued marble, with 
beautiful gardens and terraces, and adjoining 
it, in the palace grounds, is a marble villa, 
used for the entertainment of royal guests. 
This palace has been the residence of Mar- 
gherita when in Rome since the tragic death of 
King Umberto, in 1900. It is in the Ludovisi 
quarter, and stands on the very site of the Gar- 
dens of Sallust. The Queen Mother receives 
noted visitors constantly, and entertains visit- 
ing royalties and members of the aristocracy. 
No great man of science, literature, and art 
visits Rome without seeking a presentation to 
the liberal-minded and accomplished Regina 
MadrCf who is one of the most winning and 
attractive of all the royal women of Europe. 

It has become quite a feature in introducing 
young girls to present them first in private audi- 
ence to Margherita, and then later to Queen 
Elena at the Court of the Quirinale. Surely no 



girl could be given a lovelier idea of woman* 
hood than that embodied in the Dowager Queen. 
When the poet Carducei died in the early 
months of 1907, Margherita sent beautiful mes- 
sages of consolation to his family, and, later, 
to his home city of Bologna she sent the follow- 
ing letter: — 

''I announce that I make a free gift to the 
city of Bologna of the house where Giosufe Car- 
ducei passed the last years of his life, and the 
library he collected there. 

^* Bologna, that showed such affectionate hos- 
pitality for Giosufe Carducei for so many years, 
and surrounded him with so much devotion, 
will know, I feel sure, how to carefully preserve 
this remembrance of the greatest poet of modem 
Italy, Margherita.*' 

The Syndic replied in a letter hardly less fine 
in its expression of Bologna's appreciation, and 
with assurances that the name of the first Queen 
of Italy will in future be forever associated with 
Italy's greatest modem poet. 

The Regio Palazzo del Quirinale is near the 
Capitol, in the older part of the city, and only 



a small part of this is shown to visitors when 
the King and Queen are in residence- The 
Sala Regia may be seen, the chapel in which 
are preserved a large number of the wreaths 
and the addresses sent from all parts of the 
civilized world on the occasion of the death of 
Victor Emmanuel II, and a suite of reception 
rooms, the throne room with many historic por- 
traits, the Sala des Ambassadeurs, and the 
audience chamber, containing Thorwaldsen's 
"Triumphal Procession of Alexander the 
Great," a gift from Napoleon I. In the small 
chapel of the Annunciation is an altar piece by 
Guido Reni. 

To artists the Queen Mother is most gener- 
ously kind. One of the younger Italian sculp- 
tors, Turillo Sindoni, Cavaliere of the Crown 
of Italy, whose latest creation is a very beauti- 
ful statue of St. Agnes, has his studios in the 
Via del Babuino, and to especially favored 
visitors he sometimes exhibits a beautiful letter 
that he received from Margherita, who pur- 
chased two of his statues. With the letter ex- 
pressing her warm appreciation of his art was 
an exquisite gift of jewelled sleeve-links. 

Notwithstanding the fascinating lectures of 



Professor Lanciani and the valuable and in- 
teresting work in the Forum that is being ac- 
complished under the eflScient directorship of 
Commendatore Boni, yet all the roads that tra- 
ditionally lead to Rome do not converge to the 
palace on the Palatine. Modern Rome is only 
mildly archaeological, and while it takes occa- 
sional recognition of the ancient monuments, 
and drives to the crypt of old St. Agnes, to 
the tomb of Cecilia Metella, and may manage 
a descent into the catacomb of St. Calixtus, it 
IS far more actively interested in its dancing 
and dining and driving. As a scenic back- 
ground for festivities Rome is a success, and as 
one comes into social touch with the titled 
nobility, and the resident life, by birth or adop- 
tion, one finds a city of infinite human interest 
and picturesque possibilities. 

Between the "Whites" (the loyal followers of 
the Palazzo Quirinale and the King) and the 
"Blacks'* (the devoted followers of the Palazzo 
Vaticano and the Pope) a great gulf is fixed 
over which no one may cross. 

Pope Pius X is wonderfully accessible, con- 
sidering the great responsibilities and duties he 
has on him, and his generous goodness^ his 



gracious tact and the beauty of his spirit endear 
him to all, Catholic or Protestant alike, for 
every one recognizes in him the Christian 
gentleman, whose ideals of gentleness and in- 
spiring helpfulness impress themselves on all 
who are so fortunate as to meet him. 

The most impressive ceremonial receptions 
of the "Blacks" are those given at the Spanish 
Embassy in the Piazza di Spagna. At the Em- 
bassy or in the private palace of any Roman 
noble which a Cardinal honors by accepting an 
invitation, he is received according to a most 
picturesque old Roman custom. At the foot of 
the stairs two servants bearing lighted torches 
meet his Eminence, and, making a profound 
obeisance, escort him to the portals of the grand 
reception salon and await, in the corridor, his 
return. On his departure they escort him in 
the same way down the staircase. 

In the College of Cardinals and among the 
many interesting individualities of the Vatican, 
the most marked figure is that of the Cardinal 
Secretary of State, Merry del Val. He occu- 
pies the Borgia apartments, which are hung 
with tapestry and ornamented with the most 
unique and valuable articles de vertu^ — won- 



derful vases, inlaid cabinets, old tapestries, 
paintings, statues, busts, and ivories. These 
Borgia apartments are one of the most inter- 
esting features of the Palazzo Vaticano, and 
may be seen now and then by special permission 
when the Cardinal secretary is out, or when he 
may be pleased to retire into his more private 
salons in the apartment while the others are 
shown. Cardinal Rafael Merry del Val is 
an impressive personality, whose life seems 
strangely determined by destiny. His father 
was an attache of the Spanish embassy to the 
Court of St. James when the future Cardinal 
was born in 1865. In 1904, at the early age of 
thirty-nine, he was advanced from the soutane 
violet of the bishop to the mantelletta scarlet 
of the cardinal, and after the accession of the 
present Pope, Pius X, he was appointed to the 
highest oflSce in the Vatican, that of Secretary 
of State, the Pope paying him the high tribute 
because of his "devotion to work, his capability 
and absolute self-negation." 

Cardinal Merry del Val has had a wonderful 
training of experience and circumstances. At 
the early age of twenty-two he was a member 
of the papal embassy commissioned to the 



jubilee of Queen Victoria in 1887. He was also 
appointed a member of the embassy from the 
Vatican to attend the funeral of Emperor Wil- 
liam I; and at the jubilee of Francis Joseph^ 
Emperor of Austria, Cardinal (then Bishop) 
Merry del Val was the sole and accredited rep- 
resentative of the Holy See, as he was also at 
the coronation of King Edward. The Spanish 
Cardinal is the special trusted counsellor of the 
royal family of Spain. 

In Rome, Cardinal Merry del Val is an im- 
pressive figure. He is always attended by his 
gentilinomOy who is gorgeously arrayed in knee 
breeches, military hat and sword. This gentle- 
man in waiting walks behind him on a prome- 
nade, sits in his carriage and stands near him 
in all religious ceremonies. His equipage is 
well known in the Eternal City, — a stately 
black carriage drawn by two massive black 
horses with luxurious flowing manes. 

It is freely prophesied in Rome that the Car- 
dinal secretary is destined to yet exchange the 
mantelletta scarlet for the zucchetta white, when 
Pius X shall have gone the way of all his pred- 
ecessors in the papal chair. He is the Cardi- 
nal especially favored by Austria and Spain. 



Although the conflict with France was at first 
ascribed to Cardinal Merry del Val, he has of 
late been completely exonerated from blame, 
even by the French prelates and clergy. 

Cardinal Merry del Val represents the most 
advanced and progressive thought of the day. 
He is an enthusiastic admirer of Marconi and 
the marvels of wireless telegraphy; he is an 
advocate of telephonic service, electric motors, 
electric lights, and of phonographs and type- 
writers for the Vatican service. He is a great 
linguist, speaking English, French, and German 
as well as Spanish, which is his native tongue, 
and Italian, which has become second nature. 
He is a good Greek scholar and a profound 
Latin scholar, and he speaks the ancient Latin 
with the fluency and the force of the modem 
languages. He is, indeed, a remarkable twen- 
tieth-century personality and one who has ap- 
parently a very interesting life yet to come in 
his future. 

At the Villa Pamphilia Doria, built by a 
former Prince Doria, the largest villa in the 
Roman environs and the finest now remaining, 
the Cardinal enjoys his game of golf, of which 
he is very fond. The Doria family rendered 



the villa magnificent in every respect. Besides 
the spacious avenues, woods, fountains, a lake, 
and cascades, are various edifices, among which 
is one in the form of a triumphal arch, decorated 
with ancient statues; the casino of the villa in 
which are preserved some ancient marbles and 
several pictures; the beautiful circular chapel, 
adorned with eight columns of marble and 
other stately ornaments. There is a monument 
erected by the present Prince Doria to the 
memory of the French soldiers who were killed 
there during the siege of 1849. From the 
terrace of the palace there is a magnificent 
view of the environs of Rome, as far as the sea. 
In consequence of excavations, some colum- 
baria, sepulchres, inscriptions, and other relics 
have been found, which have attracted much 
attention from archaeologists. 

It is near these grounds that the "Arca- 
dians " still hold their al fresco meetings. The 
society dates back to 1690, and the first cuslos 
(whose duty was to open and close the meet- 
ings) was Crescimbeni. The "Arcadians" 
organized themselves to protest against the de- 
generacy of Italian poetry that marked the 
seventeenth century. To keep their meetings a 



secret from the populace the "Arcadians'* held 
their meetings in an open garden on the slope 
below San Pietro in M ontorio, — a terrace still 
known as "Bosco Parrasio degli Arcadi." 

One of the enchanting views in Rome is 
from the Piazza San Giovanni. One looks far 
away past the Coliseum in its ruined grandeur 
and the casa where Lucrezia Borgia lived, and 
in the near distance is the colossal pile of San 
Giovanni di Laterano, its beautiful and impress- 
ive fa9ade crowned with the statues of the 
apostles silhouetted against the western sky. In 
the piazza formed by the church, the museums, 
and the Baptistery of San Giovanni and the 
Scala Santa is one of the most remarkable 
obelisks in Rome, ninety-nine feet in height, 
formed of red granite and carved with hiero- 
glyphics. This shaft is placed on a pedestal 
which makes it in all some 115 feet in height. 
It was placed in 1568 by Sixtus V. The 
museums of the San Giovanni are the "Museo 
Sacro" and the "Museo Profano," — the latter 
founded by Pope Gregory XVI, and very rich 
in sculptures and mosaics. The "Museo Sa- 
cro" was founded by Pio Nono, and is rich 
in the antiquities of the Christian era. Within 



San Giovanni the visitor finds himself in a vast 
interior divided by columns of verd-antique 
into three aisles, each of which is as wide as, 
and far longer than, the interior of an ordinary 
church. Statues fill the niches, and the chapels 
and confessionals are all beautifully decorated. 
The Corsini Chapel is the richest and was exe- 
cuted by order of Clement XIl, in honor of 
St. Andrew Corsini, who is represented in a 
rich mosaic painting copied from Guido. Two 
sculptured figures, "Innocence" and "Peni- 
tence,** stand before the altar, and above is a 
relief depicting St. Andrew protecting the Flor- 
entine army at the battle of Anghiari. 

The tomb of Pope Clement XII (who himself 
belonged to the Corsini family and who was an 
uncle of Cardinal Corsini) is in a niche between 
two columns of porphyry, and there is a bronze 
statue of the Pope. On the opposite side is a 
statue of Cardinal Corsini, and in the crypt 
below are tombs of the Corsini family. On the 
altar — always lighted — is a "Pieta" by Ber- 
nini, of which the face of the Christ is very 

Near the centre of the Basilica is a rich tab- 
ernacle of precious stones, defined by four col- 



umns of verde anticOf and it is said that the 
heads of St. Peter and St. Paul are pre- 
served here. The table upon which Christ 
celebrated the Last Supper is placed here, 
above the altar of the Holy Sacrament, a 
sacred relic that thrills the visitors. In one 
chapel is a curious and grotesque group of 
sculpture, — a skeleton holding up a medallion 
portrait, while an angel with outstretched 
wings hovers over it. 

San Giovanni has the reputation of being 
absolutely the coldest church in all Rome, 
which — it is needless to remark — means a 
great deal, for they all in winter have the tem- 
perature of the arctic regions. In all these 
great churches there is never any heat; no 
apparatus for heating has ever been introduced, 
and the twentieth century finds them just as 
cold as they were in the centuries of a thou- 
sand years ago. This colossal Basilica is 
considered the most important church in the 
world, as it is the cathedral of the Pontiff. It 
was founded in the third century by Constan- 
tine, destroyed by fire in 1308, and rebuilt by 
Pope Clement V, and every succeeding Pope 
has added to it. The fa9ade is of travertine, 



with four gigantic columns and six pilasters, 
and the cornice is decorated with colossal figures 
of Jesus and a number of the saints. There are 
five balconies, the middle one being always used 
for papal benedictions. In the portico is the 
colossal statue of Constantine the Great. 
Within the colunms are of verde antico; the 
ceiling was designed by Michael Angelo; the 
interior is very rich in sculpture, and there are 
some fine paintings and the chapels are most 
beautiful, one of them containing a tabernacle 
comprised wholly of precious stones. Above 
the altar of the Holy Sacrament the table upon 
which Christ celebrated the Last Supper with 
the disciples is preserved. It is wonderful to 
look upon this most sacred and significant 

It is in this church that the tomb of Leo 
Xni has been constructed by the eminent 
Italian sculptor, Tadolini, opposite the tomb of 
Innocent III. The work was completed in the 
spring of 1907, the design being a life-size por- 
trait statue of the Pope with two figures, one on 
either side, representing the church and the 
workman-pilgrim, forming part of the group. 
This is one of the most memorable monu- 



ments of all Rome, and the tomb of the great 
Leo XIII will form a new shrine for Christian 

Included in the group of structures that form 
the great Basilica of San Giovanni is the Scala 
Santa, which offers a strange picture whenever 
one approaches it. These twenty-eight marble 
steps that belonged to Pilate's house in Jerusa- 
lem are said to have been once trodden by 
Jesus and may be ascended only on one's knees. 
At no hour of the day can one visit the Scala 
Santa without finding the most motley and 
incongruous throng thus ascending, pausing on 
each step for meditation and prayer. These 
stairs were transported from Jerusalem to 
Rome under the auspices of St. Helena, the 
Empress, about 326 A.D., and in 1589 they were 
placed by Pope Sixtus V in this portico built 
for them with a chapel at the top of the stairs 
called the "Sancta Sanctorum,'' formerly the 
private chapel of the Popes. In this sanctuary 
is preserved a wonderful portrait of the Saviour, 
painted on wood, which is said to have been 
partly the work of St. Luke but finished by 
unseen hands. The legend runs that St. Luke 
prepared to imdertake the work by three days' 



fasting and prayer, and that, having drawn it 
in outline, the painting was done by angelic 
ministry, the colors being filled in by invisible 
hands. In ancient times — the custom being 
abolished by Pius V in 1566 — this picture was 
borne through Rome on the Feast of the As- 
sumption and the bearer halted with it in the 
Forum, when the "Kyrie Eleison" would be 
chanted by hundreds of voices. 

Myth and legend invest every turn and foot- 
fall of the Eternal City, and there are few that 
are not founded on what the church has always 
called supernatural manifestations, but which 
the new age is learning to recognize as occur- 
rences under natural law. 

The story of Luther's ascent of the Scala 
Santa is thus told : — 

"Brother Martin Luther went to accomplish 
the ascent of the Scala Santa — the Holy Stair- 
case — which once, they say, formed part of 
Pilate's house. He slowly mounted step after 
step of the hard stone, worn into hollows by 
the knees of penitents and pilgrims. Patiently 
he crept halfway up the staircase, when he 
suddenly stood erect, lifted his face heavenward, 



and in another moment turned and walked 
slowly down again. 

^'He said that as he was toiling up a voice as 
if from heaven spoke to him and said, 'The 
just shall live by faith.' He awoke as if from 
a nightmare, restored to himself. He dared not 
creep up another step; but rising from his knees 
he stood upright like a man suddenly loosed 
from bonds and fetters, and with the firm step 
of a free man he descended the staircase and 
walked from the place.*' 

The entire legendary as well as sacred history 
is almost made up of instances of the inter- 
penetration of the two worlds; the response of 
those in the spiritual world to the needs of those 
in the natural world. Pope Paschal recorded 
that he fell asleep in his chair at St. Peter's 
(somewhere about 8.20 a.m.) with a prayer on 
his lips that he might find the burial place of 
St. Cecilia, and in his dream she appeared to 
him and showed him the spot where her body 
lay, in the catacombs of Calixtus. The next 
day he went to the spot and found all as had 
been revealed to him. The miraculous preser- 
vation of St. Agnes is familiar to all students of 



l^endaiy art. Throu^out all Rome, shrine 
and niche and sculpture, picture, monument, 
arch and column, speak perpetually of some 
interposition of unseen forces with events and 
circumstances in this part of life. The Eternal 
City in its rich and poetic symbolism is one 
great object lesson of the interblending of the 
two worlds, the natural and the spiritual. 
The first stage regarding all this marveUous 
panorama was entire and unquestioning accept- 
ance; the succeeding stage was doubt, disbe- 
lief; the third, into which we are now entering, 
is that of an enlightened understanding and a 
growing knowledge and grasp of the laws under 
which these special interpositions and inter- 
ventions occur. 

For that '^according to thy faith be it unto 
thee,'* is as true now in the twentieth century 
as it was in the first. The one central truth 
that is the very foundation of all religious 
philosophy is the continuity of life and the per- 
sistence of intercourse and communion, spirit 
to spirit, across the gulf we call death. The 
evidences of this truth have been always in the 
world. The earliest records of the Bible are 
replete with them. The gospels of the New 





Testament record an unbroken succession of 
occurrences and of testimony to this interpene- 
tration of life in the Unseen with that in the 
Seen. Secular history is full of its narrations 
of instances of clairvoyance, clairaudience, and 
of communications in a variety of ways ; and the 
sacred and legendary art of Rome, largely 
founded on story and myth and legend, when 
seen in the light of latter-day science is judged 
anew, and the hteral truth of much that has 
before been considered purely legendary is re- 
vealed and realized. One reads new meanings 
into Rome when testing it by this consciousness. 
It is a city of spiritual symbolism. It is a great 
object lesson extending over all the centuries. 
Making due allowance for the distortion and 
exaggeration of ages of testimony, there yet 
remains a residuum indisputable. The Past 
and the Present both teem with record and 
incident and experience proving that life is 
twofold, even now and here ; that all the motives 
and acts of the life which we see are variously 
incited, modified, strengthened, or annuUed by 
those in the realm of the Unseen. 

The intelligent recognition of this truth 
changes the entire conduct of life. It entirely 



alters the point of view. It extends the horizon 
line infinitely. Instead of conceiving of life as 
a whole, as comprised between the cradle and 
the grave, it will be regarded in its larger and 
truer scope as a series of experiences and 
achievements, infinite in length and in their pos- 
sibilities and unbroken by the change we call 
death. This will impart to humanity a new 
motor spring in that greater hope which puts 
man in a working mood, which makes him be- 
lieve in the value of that which he undertakes, 
which encourages him to press on amid all 
difficulties and against all obstacles. Increasing; 

hope. aU acti^ « pro^riion^fy increased* 
It was an event of incalculable importance to 
the progress of humanity when the swift com- 
munication by cable was established between 
America and Europe. It is one of infinitely 
greater importance to establish the truth and 
enlarge the possibility of direct conmiunication 
with the world of higher forces and larger attain- 
ment and scope than our own. This com- 
munication exists and has always existed, but 
it has been regarded as myth and legend and 
phenomenon rather than as a fact of nature 
whose laws were to be ascertained and under- 



stood. It must be made clear as an absolute 
scientific demonstration that the change of form 
by the process we call death does not put an 
end to intelligent and rational intercourse, but 
that, indeed, instead of setting up a barrier, it 
removes barriers and renders mutual compre- 
hension far clearer and more direct than before. 
This realization alters the entire perspective of 
life, and is the new Glad Tidings of great joy. 

It is something of all this that the Eternal 
City suggests to one as he makes his pilgrimages 
to shrine and cloister and chapel and Basilica. 
The mighty Past is eloquent with a thousand 
voices, and they blend into a choral harmony 
of promise and prophecy for the nobler future 
of humanity. 

At the foot of the Scala Santa, on either 
side, are statues of Christ and Judas, and of 
Christ and Pilate, very interesting groups by 
Jacomletti, and there is also a kneeling statue 
of Pio Nono. 

The statue of Judas is considered one of the 
most notable of the late modem Italian sculp- 

The Rome of to-day is in strange contrast 
even to the city that Page and Hawthorne 



knew, in the comparatively recent past; and 
the Rome of the ancients is traced only in the 
churches and the ruins. It is a TOot that one 
hears every language spoken in Rome, except 
the Italian! So largely has the Seven-hilled 
City become the pleasure ground of foreign 
residents. The contrast between the ordinary 
breakfast-table talk in Rome and in — Boston, 
for instance, or Washington, is amusing. In 
the Puritan capital it usually includes the topic 
of weather predictions and the news in the 
morning paper, with whatever other of local or 
personal matters of interest. In Washington, 
where the very actors and the events that make 
the nation's history are fairly before one's 
eyes, the breakfast-table conversation is apt to 
turn on matters that have not yet got into the 
papers, — the evening session of the previous 
night, perhaps, when too long prolonged under 
the vast dome to admit of its having been noted 
in the morning press. But in Rome the break- 
fast-table talk is apt to be of the new excava- 
tions just taken from the bed of the Tiber; 
the question as to whether the head of St. Paul 
could have touched (at the tragic scene of his 
execution) at three places so far apart as the 



tri-f ontanes ; or a discussion of the marvellous 
freshness of the mosaics in the interior of the 
Palace of the Caesars; or, again, of the last 
night's balls or dinners, and matters most 
frankly mondainey and of contemporary life. 

The American Embassy, whose location de- 
pends on the individual choice of the Am- 
bassador of the time, is now in the old Palazzo 
del Drago on the comer of the Via Venti Set- 
tembre and the Via dell Quattro Fontane. The 
street floor, like all the old palaces, is not used 
for living purposes. The portere, the guards, 
the corridors, and approaches to the staircases 
monopolize this space. The piano nobile is 
the residence of the beautiful and lovely Prin- 
cipessa d'Antuni, the youthful widow of the 
Principe who was himself a grandson of Marie 
Christine, the Queen of Spain* The young 
Princess who wa^ married to him at the age of 
seventeen, ten years ago, is left with three little 
children, of whom the only daughter bears the 
name of her great-grandmother, the Spanish 
Queen. Perfectly at home in all the romance 
languages, an accomplished musician, a thinker, 
a scholar, a student, a lovely figure in life, a 
beautiful and sympathetic friend is the Princess 



d'Antuni. She is "of a simpKcity," as they 
say in Italy, investing the dignity of her rank 
with indescribable grace and sweetness. The 
two long flights of stairs that lead up to the 
secundo piano in the Palazzo del Drago — the 
floor occupied by the American Embassy — 
have at least a hundred steps to each staircase, 
yet so broad and easy of ascent as hardly to 
fatigue one. These flights are carpeted in 
glowing red, while along the wall are niches in 
each of which stands an old statue, making the 
ascent of the guest seem a classic progress. 

The Palazzo del Drago has an elevator, but 
elevator service in Rome is a thing apart, 
something considered quite too good for human 
nature's daily food, and the slight power is 
far too little to permit any number of people 
to be accommodated, so on any ceremonial 
occasion the elevator is closed and the guests 
walk up the two long flights. The total lack 
of any mastery of mechanical conditions in 
Italy is very curious. 

The grand ball given at the American Em- 
bassy just before Ash Wednesday in the winter 
of 1907 was a very pretty affair. Up the rose- 
red carpeted stairs the guests walked, the 



statues looking silently on, but apparently there 
was no Galatea to step down from her niche 
and join the happy throng. In the antechamber 
each guest was asked to write his name in the 
large autograph books kept for that purpose, 
and then, passing on, was received by the 
Ambassador and Ambassadress in the first of 
the splendid series of salons thrown open for 
the occasion. At this time it was Mr. and 
Mrs. Henry White who represented the United 
States, and won the hearts of all Rome as well, 
and assisted by their charming daughter, Miss 
Muriel White, they made this ball an affair to 
leave its lovely pictures in memory. The scenic 
setting of an old Roman palace captivates the 
stranger. It may not impress him as especially 
comfortable, but it is certainly picturesque, and 
who would not prefer — at least for the "one 
night only*' of the traditional prima donna 
announcements — the pictorially picturesque 
and magnificent to the merely comfortable? 
The lofty ceilings, painted by artists who have 
long since vanished from mortal sight, make 
it impossible to attain the temperature that the 
American regards as essential to his terrestrial 
well-being, and as the only sources of heat were 



the open fireplaces the guests hovered around 
these and their radii of comfortable warmth 
were limited. In one salon there was one 
especially beautiful effect of a great jar of white 
lilacs placed before a vast mirror at sufficient 
distance to give the mirror reflection an individu* 
ality as a thing apart, and the effect was that 
of a very garden of paradise. The music was 
fascinating, the decorations all in good taste, 
and the occasion was most brilliant, — tres 
charmante indeed. The American ambassa- 
dress was ablaze with her famous diamonds, 
her corsage being literally covered with them, 
and her coiffure adorned with a coronet, but the 
temperature soon forced the ambassadress to 
partially eclipse her splendor with the httle er- 
mine shoulder cape that is an indispensable article 
for evening dress in Rome. The temperature 
does not admit the possibihty of decollete gowns 
without some protection, when these resplendent 
glittering robes that seem woven of the stars 
are worn. Among the more distinguished 
guests, aside from the corps diplomatiqv£ and 
the titled nobility of Rome and visiting for- 
eigners, were M. Carolus Duran, the cele- 
brated portrait artist of Paris, and among other 



interesting people were Miss Elise Emmons of 
Leamington, England, a grand-niece of Gharlotte 
Gushman. M. Garolus Duran was veiy mag- 
nificent, his breast covered with jewelled orders 
and decorations from the various societies, 
academies, and governments that have honored 
him. He is a short man and has grown quite 
stout, but he carries himself with ininodtable 
grace and dignity, and in his luminous eyes one 
still surprises that far-away look which Sargent 
so wonderfully caught in his portrait of the 
great French artist, painted in his earlier life. 

The number of spacious salons with their 
easy-chairs and sofas enabled all guests who 
desired to ensconce themselves luxuriously to 
do so, and watch the glittering scene. The 
supper room and the salon for dancing were 
not more alluring than the salons wherein one 
could study this brilliant throng of diplomates, 
titled nobility, distinguished artists, social ce- 
lebrities, and those who were, in various ways, 
each persona grata in Rome. Among those at 
this particular festivity were the American novel- 
ist, Frank Hamilton Spearman, with Mrs. Spear- 
man. In late American fiction Mr. Spearman 
has made for himself a distinctive place as the 



novelist whose axtistic eye has discerned the 
romance in the new phases of life created bj 
the extensive systems of mountain railroading, 
and the great irrigation schemes of the far West, 
which have not only opened up new territory, 
but have called into evidence new combinations 
of the qualities most potent in human life, — 
love, sacrifice, heroism, devotion to duty, and 
tragedy and comedy as well. In his novels, 
"The Daughter of a Magnate *' and "Whisper- 
ing Smith, '* in such vivid and delightful short 
stories as "The Ghost at Point of Rocks," 
which appeared in Scribner^a Magazine for 
August of 1907, Mr. Spearman has dramatized 
the pathos, the wit, the vast and marvellous 
spirit of enterprise, the desolation of isolated 
regions, the all-pervading potency and one may 
almost say intimacy of modem life made pos- 
sible by the Arabian Nights' dream of wireless 
telegraphy, "soaring" cars, long-distance tele- 
phoning, and lightning express train service 
in cars that climb the mountains beyond the 
clouds, or dash through tunnels with ten thou- 
sand feet of mountains above them. Mr. Spear- 
man is the novelist par excellence of this intense 



On Washington's Birthday, again, the stately 
salons of the American Embassy in the old 
Palazzo del Drago were well filled from four to 
six with an assemblage which expressed its 
patriotism and devotion to Washington by ap- 
pearing in its most faultless raiment and in an 
apparent appreciation of the refreshment tables, 
from which cake and ices, tea and various other 
delicacies, were served. 

The informal weekly receptions at the Em- 
bassy are always delightful, and the dinners 
and ceremonial entertainments are given with 
that faultless grace which characterizes the 
American ambassadress. 

The American consulate is always a charm- 
ing centre in Rome, and in the present residence 
of Consul-Greneral and Mrs. De Castro, who 
have domiciled themselves on a lofty floor of a 
palace in the Via Venti Settembre, commanding 
beautiful views that make a picture of every 
window, the consulate is one of the favorite 
social centres for Americans and other nationali- 
ties as well, who enjoy the charming welcome 
of Mrs. De Castro. 

Professor and Mrs. Jesse Benedict Carter, in 
their lovely home in the Via Gregoriana, add 



another to the pleasant American centres in the 
Eternal City, Professor Carter having succeeded 
Professor Norton as the principal of the Ameri- 
can Classical School. 

Mrs. Elihu Vedder, assisted by her accom- 
plished daughter. Miss Anita Vedder, has a 
pretty fashion of receiving weekly in Mr. 
Vedder's studio in the Via Flaminia, and these 
Saturday receptions at the Vedders' are a fea- 
ture of social life in Rome which are greatly 
sought. The distinguished artist reserves these 
afternoons for leisurely conversation, and pic- 
tures and sketches are enjoyed the more that 
they may be enjoyed in the presence of their 
creator. Miss Vedder has called to life again 
the almost lost art of tapestry, and her produc- 
tions of wonderful beauty are considered as 
among the most desirable in modem decora- 
tive art. Among these tapestries are "The 
Lover^s Song,** "Salome Dancing before 
Herod," "The Annunciation,'* "The Legend of 
the Unicom,** "The Lovers* Picnic,** and "The 
Lovers.** The tapestries were painted in Rome 
and in the Vedder villa, Torre Qtuitro VenH 
on Capri, where the artist and his wife and 
daughter pass their summers. The established 



English Church has two chapels in Rome, one 
the Holy Trinity, of which Rev. Dr. Baldwin 
is the rector, and the other^nglish chapel in 
Via del Babuino has for its chaplain Rev. Dr. 
Nutcombe Oxenham, whose ministry is one of 
the most helpful factors in Rome. Dr. and 
Mrs. Oxenham occupy a charming apartment 
in the Piazza del Popolo, the most picturesque 
piazza in Rom^ with the terraced Pincion hill- 
side crowned ^y the Villa di Medici on one 
side, afid the ^^twin churches" on another; and 
the beautiful salon of Mrs. Oxenham, with its 
wealth of books and classic engravings and gems 
of pictures, is one of the homelike interiors in 
Rome. Mr. and Mrs. Oxenham receive on 
Wednesdays, and an hour with them and their 
guests is always a privileged one. 

The work of this church, largely through the 
active co-operation of Mrs. Oxenham, extends 
into wide charities which are without discrimi* 
nation as to sect or race, — the only considera- 
tion being the human need to be met in the 
name of Him whose care and love are for each 
and all. 

Among the delightful hostesses of Rome is 
the American wife of Caviliere Cortesi, an 



Italian man of letters, and in their apartment, 
in one of the notable palaces in the Corso, some 
of the most brilliant musicals and receptions 
are given, the "All* lUustrissima Signora'* being 
assisted in the informal serving of tea by the 
two little faiiy daughters, Annunziata and 
Elizabetta, whose childish loveliness lingers 
with the habitues of this pleasant home. 

In the Palazzo Senni, in the old part of Rome, 
looking out on Cartel San Angelo and the 
Ponte d* Angelo, across to the dome of St. 
Peter's, the Listers had their home ; and though 
Mrs. Lister, one of the most distinguished 
English ladies of Rome, has gone on into the 
fairer world beyond, her daughter, Miss Roma 
Lister, sustains the charming hospitalities for 
which her mother was famous. Her salons on 
the piano nobile of the palace are rich in sou* 
venirs and rare objects of art. Mrs. Lister, 
who was of a noted English house, was evidently 
a favorite with Queen Victoria and the royal 
family; and her marriage gifts* included two 
drawings by the Queen, both autographed, and 
a crayon portrait of the Empress Frederick 
with autographic inscription to Mrs. Lister. 
Another personal gift was a portrait of Cardinal 



Newman, with his autograph. A bust of Lady 
Paget of Florence, the widow of Sir Augustus 
Paget, formerly the English Ambassador to 
Italy, is another of the interesting treasures 
which include, indeed, gifts and offerings from 
a large number of those eminent in state, in 
art, in literature, or in the church. The gracious 
hospitality of Miss Lister is dispensed to groups 
of cosmopolitan guests, and her dinners and 
other entertainments are among the most bril* 
liant in Rome. 

The Eternal City is not as hospitable to 
various phases of modem thought as is Florence, 
in which Theosophy, Christian Science, and 
psychic investigation flourish with rapidly in- 
creasing ardor; but Rome has a Theosophical 
Society, among whose leaders is the Baroness 
Rosenkrans, the mother of the distinguished 
young Danish novelist, and the aunt of Miss 
Roma Lister. The society has its rooms in the 
very heart of old Rome, and holds weekly meet- 
ings, often with an English lecturer as the speaker 
of the hour. A Theosophical library, in both 
English and Italian, is easily accessible, and the 
meetings are conducted in either language as 
it chances at the time. The accession of Annie 



Besant to the presidency of the Theosophical 
Society, succeeding Colonel Olcott, whose death 
occurred early in 1907, was most satisfactory 
to the Roman members. Mrs. Besant is one 
of the most remarkable women of the day. She 
is in no sense allied with any fads or freaks; 
she is essentially a woman of scholarship and 
poise, of genuine grasp of significant thought 
and of briUiant eloquence. Theosophy, rightly 
interpreted, is in no sense antagonistic, but, 
rather, supplemental to Christianity. It offers 
the intellectual explanation — the details, so 
to speak — of the great spiritual truths of the 

Home seems fairly on its way to become an 
English-speaking city, so numerous are the 
Americans and English who throng to Rome 
in the winter. 

There are now at least a dozen large new 
hotels on the scale of the best modem hotels in 
New York and Paris, beside the multitude of 
the older ones which are comfortable and retain 
all their popularity; yet this increase in accom- 
modation does not equal the increase in demand. 
In February the tide of travel sets in toward 
Rome, and from that date until after Easter 



every nook and niche are filled to overflow- 
ing. The demand for apartments in Rome is 
greater than the supply, although the city is 
being constantly extended and new buildings 
are rapidly being erected. It would seem as if, 
with the present increasingly large number of 
Americans and English, it might be an admirable 
financial enterprise for capitalists to come and 
build comfortable modern apartment hotels. 
There seems to be no adequate reason why, in 
this age, people should be compelled to live in 
these gloomy, dreary, cold, old stone palaces, 
without elevator service and with no adequate 
heating, lighting, and running-water faciUties. 
There would seem to be no conceivable reason 
why these conveniences should not be at hand 
in Rome as well as in New York. As for the 
climate, with warm houses to live in, it would 
be charmingly comfortable, for the deadly cold 
b not in the temperature out of doors, but only 
in the interiors. One is warm in the sunshine 
in the streets, when he is fairly frozen in the 
house. Mentioning this, however, with wonder 
that some enterprising American did not begin 
such building operations, a friend who has lived 
for sixteen years in Rome replied that the 




Italians would never permit it; that no foreigner 
is allowed to come in here and initiate business 
operations. And the Italians continue building 
after the old and clumsy fashion of five hundred 
years ago. 

Italy has a curiously pervasive and general 
suspicion of any latter-day comfort. The new 
apartment houses of from four to seven stories 
are largely without any elevator; if there is one 
it usually only ascends about halfway, and it is 
so clumsy and slow in its methods, so poorly 
supported by power, that half the time it does 
not run at all. The streets of Rome are paved 
with rough stones; the sidewalks are very nar- 
row; the lighting is inadequate. Bathrooms are 
rare and insufficient in number, and all interior 
lighting and heating arrangements lack much 
that is desirable according to American ideas 
of comfort. 

Still the Eternal City is so impressive in and 
of itself that sunshine or storm, comfort or the 
reverse, can hardly affect one's intensity of joy 
and wonder and mysterious, unanalyzable rap- 
ture in it. The twentieth-century Rome is a 
very different affair from the Rome on which 
Hawthorne entered one dark, cold, stormy 



winter night more than half a century ago. In 
the best modem hotels one may be as comfort- 
able as he likes, with all the fascinations of 
life added besides. No wonder that Rome is 
one of the great winter centres, with some of the 
most interesting people in the world always to 
be found under the spell of its enchantment. 

The Rome of to-day is a curious mixture of 
ruins and of modem buildings which are neither 
modem nor mediaeval in their stmcture, but 
many of which combine the most picturesque 
features of the latter with the latest beauty of 
French and American architectural art. The 
classic bmldings are now largely in unpleasant 
surroundings; as, for instance, the Pantheon, 
which is surrounded by a fish market, with un- 
speakable odors and other repulsive features. 
"But the portico, with its sixteen Corinthian 
columns, is forever majestic; the interior, a vast 
circular cell surmounted by a dome through 
which alone it is lighted, there being no windows 
in the walls, is massive and grim, but the 
magical illumination, the eye constantly reveal- 
ing the sky above, gives it wonderful beauty. 
Over the outer portals is the inscription of its 
erection by Agrippa twenty-seven years before 



Christ, so it has stood for neariy two thousand 
years. Colossal statues of Augustus and Agrippa 
fill niches. In diameter the interior of the 
Pantheon is one hundred and thirty-two feet, 
and it is the same in height, which insures the 
singularly harmonious proportions. The tribune 
of the High-Altar is cut in the thickness of the 
wall in the form of a semicircle, and is orna- 
mented, like the door, with four pilasters and 
two columns of violet marble. The six chapels 
are also cut in the wall and ornamented by two 
colunms and two pilasters. The colunms and 
the pilasters support the beautiful cornice of 
white marble; the frieze is of porphyry, and 
goes round the whole temple. Above this order 
there is a species of attic with fourteen niches, 
and the great cornice from which rises the 
majestic dome. Eight other niches are between 
the chapels, and these are also with a pediment 
supported by two Corinthian colunms. They 
are now converted into altars. In this temple 
are buried several artists, among whom are 
Raphael, Giovanni da Udine, Baldassare 
Peruzzi, and Annibale Caracci. Raphael is 
buried beneath the base of the statue called 
la Madonna del Sasso, sculptured by Lorenzetti. 



This church is, however, without paintings or 
sculptures of much interest. Victor Emmanuel 
was entombed here on the 20th of January, 
1878, and King Umberto on the 9th of August, 
1900/' One of the imposing ceremonies of 
Rome is that always celebrated in the Pan- 
theon on March 14, in memory of King Um- 
berto Primo. 

A grand catafalque, surmounted by the royal 
crown, and surrounded by tall candelabra with 
wax candles, is erected in the centre of the 
temple, draped with black velvet and gold lace, 
and lighted with electric lamps. The mass is 
for a chorus of voices only. All the civil and 
military authorities, the state dignitaries, and 
the corps diplomatiqtie to the court of Italy are 
present. The troops, in full dress uniform, file 
in the Piazza of the CoUegio Romano, Via Pi^ 
di Marmo, and the Piazza della Minerva, en* 
closing thus a large square in the Piazza del 
Pantheon. The spectacle is one of the most 
imposing of all Roman ceremonies. 

The Eang, and Queen Elena, and the Dowager 
Queen Margherita, accompanied by their re- 
spective civil and military households, assist at 
the requiem mass celebrated in the Pantheon, 



and at a commemoration service, on the same 
day, in the Royal Chapel of the Sudario, where 
also assemble the ladies and gentlemen of the 
Order of the Annunziata. 

On the same morning the feast of St. Gregory, 
Pope and Doctor of the church, is celebrated 
at his church on the Cselian Hill. He was bom 
of a noble family, and was Prefect of Rome in 
573. Pope Pelagius II made him regionary 
deacon of Rome, and sent him as legate to 
Constantinople in 578, where he remained till 
the death of Pelagius, when he was elected 
Pope (590). He introduced the Gregorian chant. 
His first great act was to send St. Augustine to 
convert the Saxons of England to the Christian 
faith. An inscription in the Church of San 
Gregorio Magno states that St. Augustine was 
educated in the abbey which was erected on the 
site of the present church by Gregory, and that 
many early archbishops of York and Canter- 
bury were also educated there. It was on the 
steps of this church that Augustine and his 
forty monks took leave of Gregory, when setting 
out for England. He died in 604, after a pontifi- 
cate of thirteen years and six months. He was 
buried in the portico of the Vatican Basilica, 



and his body lies under the altar dedicated to 
him in this same church. His church, on the 
Cselian Hill, was built on the site of the mon- 
astery founded by him. In the chapel of the 
triclinium, near the church, the table on which 
he served the poor is shown. Near the church 
also is seen his cell, where his marble chair and 
one of his arms are exhibited. 

During the Lenten season of 1907 one of the 
privileges of Rome was to hear the sermons of 
Monsignor Vaughan, in the English Catholic 
Church of San Silvestre. Monsignor Vaughan 
is the private chaplain of the Pope. His dis- 
courses attracted increasing throngs of both 
Catholic and Protestant hearers. This cele- 
brated prelate is a brother of the late English 
Cardinal. He is a man of great distinction of 
presence, of beautiful voice and fascination of 
manner. One discourse had for its theme the 
joys of the life that is to come. The spiritual 
body, he said, has many qualities not pertaining 
to the physical body. It is immured from all 
disease and accidents; it is subtle and can pass 
through any substance which is (apparently) 
solid to us, as, for instance, when Jesus appeared 
in the midst of his disciples, 'Hhe doors being 



shut." It is not a clog on the soul, continued 
Monsignor Vaughan ; the spiritual body is the 
vehicle of the soul and can waft its way through 
the air; it can walk the air as the physical body 
walks the earth. It is not — as is the physical 
body — the prison of the soul, but the com- 
panion of the soul. This is all a very enlightened 
presentation of spiritual truth, and it is little 
wonder that such preaching attracts large con- 
gregations. Holy Week in Rome bears little 
resemblance now to that of the past. The 
Pope is not visible in any of the ceremonials 
in any of the churches; and the impressiveness 
of former Catholic ceremonials is greatly les- 
sened. Indeed, with the passing of the temporal 
power of the Pope, the picturesqueness of Rome 
largely vanished. 

Not, assuredly, from any lack of reverence 
for the colossal cathedral of St. Peter's is that 
Basilica a resort for Sunday afternoons ; it 
suggests a social reunion, where every one 
goes, listens as he will to the music of the 
Papal choir in the Chapel of the Sacrament, 
and strolls about the vast interior where the 
promenade of the multitude does not yet dis- 
turb in the least the vesper service in the chapeL 



Here one meets everybody; the general news of 
the day is exchanged; greeting and salutation 
and pleasant little conversational interludes 
mark the afternoon, while the sun sinks behind 
the splendid pile of the Palazzo Vaticano, and 
the golden light through the window of the 
tribune fades into dusk. Can one ever lose out 
of memory the indescribable charm of this 
leisurely sauntering, in social enjoyment, in 
the wonderful interior of St. Peter's? 

In the way of the regulation sight-seeing the 
visitor to Rome compasses most of his duty in 
this respect on his initial sojourn and goes the 
rounds that no one ever need dream of repeat- 
ing. Once for all the visitor to Rome goes 
down into the Catacombs ; makes his appallingly 
hard journey over Castel San Angelo, into its 
cells and dungeons, and to the colossal salon 
in which is Hadrian's tomb; oiice for a lifetime 
he climbs St. Peter's dome; drives out to old 
St. Agnes and descends into the crypt; visits 
the Church of the Capucines and beholds the 
ghastly spectax^le of the monks' skulls; drives 
in the Appian Way; visits the Palace of the 
Csesars, the Baths of Caracalla — a mass of 
ruins; the Forum; the Temples of Vesta and 



Isis ; the Coliseum, and the classic old Pkntheon. 
These form a kind of skeleton for the regulation 
sight-seeing of the Eternal City; things which, 
once done, are checked off with the feeling that 
the entire duty of the tourist has been fulfilled, 
and that, henceforth in Rome, there is laid up 
for him the crown of enjoyment, if not re- 
joicing; that he may go again and again to 
study the marvellous treasures of the Vatican 
galleries, the masterpieces of art in the Raphael 
stanze in the Vatican, the interesting pictures 
and sculpture in the many rich churches and 
galleries. The deadly chill of most of these 
galleries and churches in the winter is beyond 
words to describe. It is as if the gloom and 
chill and darkness of a thousand centuries were 
there concentrated. 

One of the regulation places for the devout 
sight-seer, who feels responsible to his conscience 
for improving his privileges, is the Museo 
Nazionale, or the Tiberine Museum, a large 
proportion of whose treasures have been ex- 
cavated in making the new embankments of 
the Tiber. It is located on the site of the Baths 
of Diocletian, the great ruins of which surround 
it in the most uncanny way. Built around a 




large court, the salons of the museum are 
entered from the inner cloisters. In the centre 
of the court is a fountain, and around it are 
antique fragments of statues, columns, and 
statuettes found in many places. The famous 
Ludovisi collection of antique statuary is now 
permanently placed in this museum, — a collec- 
tion that includes the "Ludovisi Mars;" Her- 
cules," with a cornucopia; the "Hermes of 
Theseus," the "Discobolus Hermes;" the 
"Venus of Gnidus" as copied by Praxiteles; 
the "Dying Medusa;" the "Ludovisi Juno," 
which Winckelmann declares to be the finest 
head of Juno extant, a Greek work of the 
fourth century; a "Cupid and Psyche;" the 
two "Muses of Astronomy" and of "Epic 
Poetry, "" Urania and Calliope;" "an Antoni- 
nus;" the largest sarcophagus known; a 
"Tragic Mask" (colossal) in rosso antico; a 
bust of "Marcus Aurelius" in bronze, and 
many other priceless works. 

The splendor of scenic setting for art in the 
magnificent salons of the Casino Borghese has 
never been surpassed. They are, perhaps, the 
most impressive of any Roman interior, with 
lofty, splendidly decorated ceilings and walls, 



where recess and niche hold priceless sculptures. 
The splendor of these salons, indeed, quite 
exceeds description. In the principal one is 
a group on one wall — a colossal relief — repre- 
senting Marcus Curtius plunging into the gulf 
in the Forum. There are busts of the twelve 
Csesars; there are busts of all the Roman Em- 
perors, with alabaster draperies, placed on 
pedestals of red granite. There are Bernini's 
"Apollo and Daphne;** Canova's celebrated 
statue of Princess Pauline Borghese (the sister 
of Napoleon I) ; Bernini's " David " and "^neas 
and Anchises;" Thorwaldsen's "Faun;" "Di- 
ana," "Isis," " Juno," and many other cele- 
brated classic statues. All the great paint- 
ings which were formerly in the Palazzo Bor- 
ghese — over six hundred in all — are now in 
this casino. The great work in this collection 
is Raphael's "Entombment of Christ," painted 
in his twenty-fourth year. Titian's "Divine 
and Human Love;" Raphael's portrait of 
"Cflesar Borgia;" Correggio's "Danae;" Do- 
menichino's "Cumaean Sibyl" and "Diana;" 
Peruzzi's "Venus Leaving the Bath;" Van 
Dyck's "Crucifixion;" Titian's "Venus and 
Cupid ; " and " Annunciation," by Paul Veronese ; 



i's "Lucrezia Borgia;" Botticelli's "Holy 
Family and Angels;*' Van Dyck's "Entomb- 
ment;" Carlo Dolce's "Mater Dolorosa," and 
Sassoferrato's "Three Ages of Man " are among 
the great masterpieces in this museum. 

The Villa Borghese (by which is meant the 
park) is some three miles in extent, and was 
laid out some two hundred years ago by Cardinal 
Borghese. As recently as 1902 it was purchased 
by the government for three million francs, and 
its official name is now "Villa Comunale Um- 
berto Primo." These grounds contain foun- 
tains, antique statues, tablets, small temples 
and many inscriptions, with statues of iEscula- 
pius and Apollo, and an Egyptian gateway. 
They are open all day to every one freely and 
are one of the great attractions of Rome. 

The great palaces of Rome are of later date 
than those of Florence. There are some eighty 
principal ones, of which the Palazzos Vene- 
ziano, Famese, Doria, Barberini, Colonna, 
and the Rospigliosi (containing Guido's fa- 
mous "Aurora") are the most important. 
The Famesina Palace contains some of the 
most interesting pictures in Rome, and the 
traditions of the residence of Agostino Chigi, 



during the pontificate of Leo X, are sstiU found 
in Rome, — traditions of the lavish magnifi- 
cence of the entertainments given here to the 
Pope and the Cardinals. 

The Monte Pincio is the famous drive of 
Roman society, and the promenade around the 
brow of the hill offers one of the most enchant- 
ing views of the world. Near the TrinitJt di 
Monti stands the historic Villa Medici, the 
French Academy of which the great Carolus 
Duran is now the director. The view across 
the valley in which lies the Piazza di Spagna, the 
river to St. Peter's, from the Villa Medici, is 
one of the finest in Rome. 

The architecture of the garden facade is 
attributed to Michael Angelo. These gardens 
have a circuit of more than a mile, laid out in 
the formal rectangles and densely bordered walks 
of the Italian custom. All manner of old frag- 
ments of sculpture are scattered through them, 
— a torso, a broken bust, a ruined statue, an 
old and partly broken fountain, — and entabla- 
tures and reliefs are seen in the walls on every 
hand. No sound of the city ever penetrates 
into this dense foliage which secludes the 
gardens of the famous Villa Medici. 



One of the features of Roman life is the 
fashionable drive on Monte Pincio in the late 
afternoons. An hour or two before sunset 
the terrace of the Piazza TrinitJi di Monti 
begins to be thronged with pedestrians, who 
lean over the marble balustrade, gazing at the 
incomparable pictured panorama where the 
vast dome of St. Peter^s, the dense pines of the 
Villa Pamphilia-Doria on the Janiculum, and 
the dark cypress groves on Monte Mario loom 
up against the golden western sky. 

Compared with the extensive parks of mod- 
em cities the Monte Pincio would prefigure 
itself as a drive for fairies alone. It comprises 
a few acres only, thickly decorated with trees 
and shrubbery, with a casino for the orchestra 
that plays every afternoon, and a circular car- 
riage drive so limited in extent that the same 
carriage comes in view every few minutes. 

The Eternal City has had so many birthdays 
that one would fancy them to have become 
negligible; but it was announced on April 21 
of 1907 that the date was a special anniversary, 
and she took on aspects of festivity. The muni- 
cipal palaces and museums were hung with 
tapestries, flags were flying from the Capitol, 



the municipal guards were all in full dress uni- 
form and the municipal orchestra played in the 
Piazza Colonna. The historic bell began ring- 
ing at eight in the morning in peals that were 
well calculated to call the Caesars from their 
tombs and which might, indeed, have been mis- 
taken for the final trumpet calls of GabrieL 
But the Romans take their pleasures rather 
sadly and sternly, — not like the light-hearted 
Florentines in song and laughter, or with the 
joyous abandon of the NeapoUtans, — so there 
was no special manifestation on the part of the 
populace, and the day, cold, gloomy, and cheer- 
less, did not inspire gayety. 

When the RepubUc of Rome was established 
(on Feb. 9, 1849) a provisional government was 
appointed. In March of that year Mazzini 
proposed that the assembly should appoint a 
Conmiittee of War, and it was decided to send 
troops to Piedmont. Later a triumvirate, con- 
sisting of Mazzini, Saffi, and Armellini, was 
formed, but disaster was near. In April the 
French troops landed at Civitk Vecchia, and the 
Italians prepared to defend their country from 
the control of Louis Napoleon. Mazzini is 
said to have been '"the life and the soul'* of 



this defence. But the Republic was doomed, 
and when it had fallen the Pope returned, only 
under the protection of the French. But the 
French Empire, too, was doomed to fall; and 
when Garibaldi transferred his successes to 
Victor Emmanuel, the monarchy was consoli- 
dated by the union of Rome with Italy, and the 
present "Via Venti Settembre'* in Rome — the 
street named to commemorate that 20th of 
September, 1870, on which the Italian troops 
entered the city and the Papal reign ended — 
perpetuates the story of those eventful days. 
"Victor Emmanuel, Cavour, and Garibaldi have 
been designated, along with Mazzini, as the 
founders of the modem Italy,*' said Dr. William 
Clarke, "but a broad line divides Mazzini from 
the others.'* Dr. Clarke sees between Cavour 
and Mazzini "the everlasting conflict between 
the idealist and the man of the world. The 
former," he continues, "stands by the intellect 
and the conscience; the latter by the limitations 
of actual fact and the practical difficulties of 
the case," and Dr. Clarke notes further: — 

^^It was pre-eminently Mazzini who gave to 
Italy the breath of a new life, who taught her 



people constancy in devotion to an ideal good. 
Prophets are rarely successful in their own day, 
and so it has been with the prophet of modem 
Italy. The making of Italy has not proceeded 
in the way he hoped it would; for the Italians, 
who are an eminently subtle and diplomatic 
people, have apparently thought it best to bend 
to the hard facts by which they have been sur- 
rounded. But if, as Emerson teaches, facts are 
fluid to thought, we may believe that the ideas 
of Mazzini will yet prevail in the nation of his 
birth, and that he may yet be regarded as the 
spiritual father of the future Italian common- 
wealth. For of him, if of any modem man, we 
may say that he 

'Saw distant gates of Eden gleam, 
And did not dream it was a dream.* ** 

Between the period of the establishment of 
the Roman Republic in 1849 and the consum- 
mation of United Italy in 1870 the years were 
rich to the artist, whatever they may have been 
to philosopher and patriot. The way for the 
painter and the sculptor seems to have been a 
flowery and a pictorial one, — a very via buona 

From At ArUtTl Orieinal C<ul 

Albert Bertel Thonraldseu 
Pag* 193 



fortunay through a golden, artistic atmosphere. 
The perpetual excursions may lead the serious 
spectator to wonder where working hours come 
in, but, at all events, those days are rich in 
color. Friends grouped together by the unerr- 
ing law of elective affinities loitered in gal- 
leries and churches. San Martina, near the 
Mamertine prisons, was a point of interest 
because of Thorwaldsen's bequest to it of the 
original cast of his beautiful statue of " Christ *' 
which is in Copenhagen. This is, perhaps, 
the finest work ever conceived by the Danish 
sculptor, and is one that no visitor of. to-day 
can behold unmoved. Both Canova and Ber- 
jiini are also represented in this church,— the 
former by a statue of "Religion" and the latter 
by a bust of Pietro da Cortona. Beneath the 
present Church of San Martina is the ancient 
one containing the shrine of the martyr, under 
a superb bronze altar. Of this church, Mrs. 
Jameson says in her "Sacred and Legendary 
Art": — 

"At the foot of the Capitoline Hill, on the 
left hand as we descend from the Ara Coeli 
into the Forum, there stood in very ancient 



times a small chapel, dedicated to St. Martina^ 
a Roman virgin. The veneration paid to her 
was of very early date, and the Roman people 
were accustomed to assemble there on the first 
day of the year. This observance was, how- 
ever, confined to the people, and was not very 
general till 1634, an era which connects her in 
rather an interesting manner with the history of 
art. In this year, as they were about to repair 
her chapel, they discovered, walled into the 
foundations, a sarcophagus of terra cotta, in 
which was the body of a young female, whose 
severed head reposed in a separate casket. 
These remains were very naturally supposed to 
be those of the saint who had been so long 
venerated on that spot. The discovery was 
hailed with the utmost exultation, not by the 
people only, but by those who led the minds 
and consciences of the people. The Pope him- 
self, Urban VIII, composed hymns in her 
praise; and Cardinal Francesco Barberini under- 
took to rebuild her church." 

The painter, Pietro da Cortona, entered into 
this feeling and at his own expense built the 
chapel and painted for its altar piece the pic- 



ture representing the' saint in triumph, while 
the temple in which she has gone to sacrifice 
falls in ruins from a raging tempest. 

In any stray ramble in Rome the sojourner 
might chance, at any moment, upon obelisk, a 
pedestal or inscription linked with the great 
names of the historic past. Hawthorne has re- 
corded how, by mere chance, he turned from 
the Via delle Quattro Fontane into the Via Quiri- 
nale and was thus lured on to an obelisk and 
a fountain on the pedestal of which on one side 
was the inscription, "Opus Phidias," and on 
the other, "Opus Praxiteles," and he exclaims: — 

"What a city is this, when one may stumble, by 
mere chance — at a street comer as it were — on 
the works of two such sculptors ! I do not know 
the authority," he continues, "on which these 
statues (Castor and Pollux I presume) are attrib- 
uted to Phidias and Praxiteles; but they im- 
pressed me as noble and godlike, and I feel in- 
clined to take them for what they purport to be." 

While the Papal ceremonies are neither so 
frequent nor so magnificent as in former days, 
still any hotel guest in Rome is liable, any 



morning, on coming down to the saUe-a-manger 
for coffee, to find every woman (who is taking 
her Rome seriously) arrayed in a black robe 
with a black lace veil on her head. One would 
fancy they were all a procession of nuns, about 
to retire from the world into the strict seclusion 
of the cloister. But it is nothing so momen- 
tous. It is only that every lady, with the 
devotion to spectacles which every visitor in 
Rome feels, as a matter of course, has secured 
the pink ticket entitling her to admission to 
the Vatican Palace to see the "passage" of the 
Pope, as he makes his way, attended by the 
Cardinals of the Sacred College, to the Sistine 
Chapel where his Holiness "creates" new 
Cardinals. Although rumored that the spec- 
tacle will be a gorgeous one, that the Pope 
will be carried aloft preceded by the silver 
trumpeters and attended by the Cardinab and 
the ambassadors and other dignitaries in the 
full dress of their ceremonial costumes and their 
orders, the reality is less impressive. Some 
feminine enthusiasts fare forth at the heroic 
hour of eight, although the procession is not 
announced to pass until a quarter after ten 
(which in Italy should be translated as a quarter 



after eleven, at the earliest, if not after twelve, 
which would be the more probable), in order 
to secure good standing room. For everybody 
is to stand — of course, comfort being a thing 
conspicuous only by its absence in Italy ! Those 
of us too well aware by the experiences of pre- 
vious visits to Italy that no Italian function 
was ever on time, from the starting of a 
railway train to the crowning of a king, only 
betake ourselves to the glories of the Palazzo 
Vaticano at the hour named, and we have 
then — as one's prophetic soul or his conmion- 
place memoiy warned him — to wait more 
than an hour wedged into a dense crowd of 
all nationalities, none of whom seem at this 
particular juncture, at least, to be at all over- 
burdened with good manners. And what went 
they out for to seek ? Instead of an impressive 
spectacle — a thing to remember for a lifetime 

— one merely sees Pius X walking, surrounded 
by his Cardinals in a group, — not a procession, 

— he alone in the centre with his mitre on his 
head, — the whole scene hardly lasting over a 
minute, and as his Holiness is not as tall as 
most of his Cardinals, he is almost hidden from 
view. It had been rumored that the Pope 



was to be borne aloft in the Papal chair, pre- 
ceded by the traditional white fan and the 
silver trumpets; but the present Pope is tem- 
peramentally inclined to minimize all the cere- 
monials investing his sacred office. 

Yet there is always a thrill in entering the 
Vatican. To ascend that splendid Scala Regia 
designed by Bernini, with one of the most in- 
geniously treated perspective effects to be found, 
it may be, in the entire world; to cross 
this Scala with its interesting frescoes by 
Salviati and others; to see at near range the 
picturesque Swiss Guard, — surely any pretext 
to enjoy such a morning is easily accepted of 
whatever occurrence one may grasp in order 
to obtain the hour. 

One curious feature of the past is to-day 
equally in evidence in Rome. Strolling at 
any time into the Church of San Agostino one 
beholds a curious spectacle. It is in this church 
that is placed the beautiful bronze statue of 
the Virgin and Child by Sansovino. It is ap- 
proached by a platform on which is placed a 
stool that enables one to mount and thus reach 
the foot of the statue, which is kissed and the 
wish of the devotee is offered. This Madonna 



is believed to have the power to grant each wish 
and prayer; to heal the sick; restore the blind, 
the deaf, and the lame; to grant immunity 
from loss or illness; to grant success and pros- 
perity. The poor Madonna must have her 
hands full with these avalanches of petitions, 
but she sits calmly in state and, if the striking 
testimony of votive offerings can be credited, 
she is most amiable in granting the prayers of 
her devotees. For she is hung with price- 
less jewels; necklaces, brooches, bracelets, dia- 
mond and ruby and sapphire rings on her 
fingers, she is a blaze of splendor. Around 
this statue there is a perpetual crowd, whatever 
hour of day one chances to wander in, and 
from prince to beggar the bronze foot is kissed, 
as each waits his turn to mount the stool and 
prefer his secret wish. The walls of the church 
are covered with the votive offerings to the 
Madonna for her aid, — rich jewels, orders, 
tablets, — offerings of all kinds. In this church 
is entombed the body of Santa Monica, the 
mother of St. Augustine, placed in an urn of 
verd-antique, in a special chapel beautifully 
decorated. After preferring one's secret wish 
to the Virgin one must wander on to the Fon- 



tane de Trevi and throw his penny into the 
water to insure his return to Rome, and then 
he may rest, mens consda recta I 

Although Holy Week in Rome has less cere- 
monial observance in these latter days than those 
of the impressive scenes so vividly portrayed 
by Mme. de Stael in "Corinne,'* it still attracts 
a multitude of visitors and offers much to touch 
and thrill the life of the spirit, quite irrespec- 
tive as to whether the visitor be of the Catholic 
or Protestant faith. In the great essentials of 
Christianity, all followers of Christ unite. The 
Pope does not now take part in public services 
on Easter, and that scene of the Pontifical 
blessing from the balcony of St. Peter's given 
to the multitude below who throng the piazza 
remains only in memoiy and in record. But 
the stately and solemn services of Good Friday 
in the vast and grand interior of St. Peter's are 
an experience to linger forever in memoiy. 
The three hours' service — the chanting of the 
Miserere — was a scene to impress the imagina- 
tion. This service is held in the late afternoon 
of Good Friday, in the tribune of St. Peter's, 
the extreme end of the church where the vast 
window of yellow glass gives a perpetually 


golden light. The chair believed to have been 
that of St. Peter's is here placed, enclosed in 
ivory and supported by statues of four Fathers 
of the church, St. Augustine, St. Ambrose, St. 
Chrysostom, and St. Athanasius, from a design 
of Bernini. 

In the tribune is the tomb of Urban VIII 
(who was Matteo Barberini), of which the 
redundant decoration tells the story that it is 
also Bernini's work. Opposite this tomb is 
that of Paul III, by della Porta, under the 
supervision of Michael Angelo, it is said, and 
the beauty and dignity of the bronze figure of 
the aged Pope, in the act of giving the bene- 
diction, quite confirm this tradition. On a 
tablet in the wall of the tribune are engraved 
the names of all the bishops and prelates who, 
in 1854, accepted the belief of the Immaculate 
Conception, — this tablet being placed by the 
order of Pio Nono. 

In this tribune on the late afternoon of the 
Good Friday of 1907 the seats were filled with 
worshippers to listen to the three hours' chant 
of the Miserere. Princes and peasants sat side 
by side, and an immense throng who could not 
find seats stood, often wandering away in the 




dim distances of the cathedral and ever and 
again returning. The high altar, where Ca- 
nova's beautiful figure of the kneeling Pope 
always enchains the visitor, was, as usual, sur- 
rounded. The lights burned — these perpetual 
lamps — and the moving throng went and 
came. The scene grew mystic, dream-like, 
as the solemn music floated on the air. 

The Chapel of the Holy Sacrament, on the 
left of the cathedral, was made into the sepul- 
chre that day, and anything more beautiful 
than the m3rriad altar lights and the flowers could 
not be imagined. At the altar black-robed nuns 
were kneeling, and all over the chapel, kneeling 
on the floor, were people of all grades and ranks 
of life, from the duchess and princess to the 
be^ar woman with a ragged shawl on her 
shoulders and her baby in her arms. St. Peter's 
was nearly filled all that day with people, not 
crowded, but apparently thronged in almost 
every part. 

The altar in the Chapel of the Holy Sacra- 
ment was one mass of deep red roses. The 
chapel was completely darkened, but the blaze 
of myriads of tall candles illuminated the roses 
and the black-robed nuns and the black- 


robed devotees. It was a scene never to be 

Even in the latter-day Rome, historic names 
are not wanting. One of these, the Princess 
Christina Bonaparte, nee Ruspoli, died in 1907 
in her Roman villa in Via Venti Settembre. She 
was the widow of Prince Napoleon Charles 
Bonaparte and a cousin of the Empress Eugenie. 
With her husband in Paris until 1870, she fled 
(whilst her husband was fighting at Metz) as 
soon as the Commune was proclaimed. The 
princess was considered a beautiful woman and 
her portrait had been painted by Ernest Hubert, 
but it was lost when the Palace of the Tuileries 
was destroyed in 1870. 

With this princess dies the name of the Bona- 
parte family. Her daughters. Donna Maria 
Gotti-Bonaparte and Princess Maria della 
Moskowa, were often with her in Rome. 

The Palazzo Bonaparte is very near Porta 
Pia. Although called a palace, it is simply a 
plain house of some five stories, with narrow 
halls and stone staircases, no elevator, no elec- 
tric lights. The princess occupied the first 
floor, while the apartments above were let to 
various families. 



With the exception of the royal palaces there 
are few in which suites are not obtainable for 
residence by any one who desires them. 

It was at a pleasant dejeuner one spring day 
in Rome that the project was launched, that 
we should go motoring that afternoon to Fras- 
cati, Albano, Castel Gandolfo, Lago di Nemi, 
and all that wonderful region. We were lunch- 
ing with a friend who had a charming apartment 
in one of the sumptuous old palaces of Rome, 
where, in a niche on the marble staircase, the 
statue of Cflesar Augustus stood, — a copy of 
the famous statue in the Capitoline, — where 
lofty, decorated ceilings, old paintings and 
sculptures adorned the rooms, and where from 
the windows we looked out on the tragedy- 
haunted Castel San Angelo, with the dome of 
San Pietro in the background. Our friend 
who invited us to fly in his motor had brought 
his touring car over from America. The one 
note of new luxury now is for travellers to 
journey with their touring cars. In a year or 
two more it will be airships or soaring ma- 
chines. On this wonderful May afternoon, 
all azure and gold, we started off in the great, 
luxurious touring car which was arranged even 



to carry two trunks, with a safe in it for the 
deposit of valuables, a hamper for refreshments, 
and, indeed, almost every conceivable con- 
venience. On we flew through Rome, past 
the great Basilica of San Maria Maggiore; 
past the wonderful pile of San Giovanni Later- 
ano, with the colossal statues of the apostles 
surmounting the fa9ade; through the Porta 
San Giovanni into the narrow, walled lane 
leading out on the Campagna; on, on, to the 
Alban hills. We flew past olive orchards and 
vineyards, and the vast green pasture lands of 
the Campagna whose vivid green was ablaze with 
scarlet poppies. Far away to the west there 
was a white shining line — the line of the sea. 
. At Frascati we stopped at the Villa Torlo- 
nia, the country place of the ducal family, 
whose grand Roman palazzo is in the Boca di 
Leone in the old part of Rome. The Torlonia 
have an only daughter. Donna Teresa, whose 
debutante ball a year ago is said to have been 
the most magnificent entertainment in Rome 
for fifty years. A writer, in a recent article 
on the nobility of Rome, said of this family: — 

**The Torlonia figure repeatedly in the novels 



of Thackeray, who was never tired of portray- 
ing them* They have been most useful citizens, 
and since the days of the old army contractor, 
who founded the house, have augmented the 
family wealth by judicious investments, espe- 
cially in connection with the draining and re- 
claiming of the marsh lands that abound in 
the former Papal States. They have contracted 
matrimonial alliances with the Colonna, with 
the Borghese, the Belmonte, the Doria, and 
the Sforza." 

The Villa Torlonia at Frascati is a very 
large estate with extensive gardens, terraces, 
and a cascade of three falls on the hillside, 
which is turned on (the water) at pleasure. 
The house, however, is a shabby-looking affair, 
a two or three story, rambling, yellow structure, 
which, at Newport, would not be considered 
too good for the gardener. r^ 

After the usual fashion of the Italians who 
seldom travel, the Torlonia, wealthy as they 
are, simply remove from their palace in Rome 
to their villa at Frascati instead of travelling 
to Switzerland, Grermany, or elsewhere in the 


The Duke and Duchess of Cumberland 
were the guests of the Torlonia that day, the 
entire party enjoying themselves al fresco, and 
the beautiful cascade pouring down within the 
near distance. 

These outlying towns, Frascati, Albano, Cas- 
tel Gandolfo, and Lago di Nemi, the pictur- 
esque group in the Alban Mountains, are some 
sixteen to eighteen miles from Rome. These 
Alban hills rise like an island from the vast 
plain of the Campagna, the highest point being 
some three thousand feet above sea level. They 
are covered with villages and castles and villas, 
and have in all a population of some fifty thou- 
sand. The region is volcanic, and the beautiful 
Lago di Nemi and Lago di Albano were the 
craters of extinct volcanoes. All this region 
was the haunt of Cicero, Virgil, and Livy. At 
Tusculum, near Frascati, are the remains of 
Cicero's villa, and also of an ancient theatre 
hewn out of solid rock. The view to the west 
toward Rome is most beautiful. The dome of 
St. Peter's crowns the Eternal City; and the 
Campagna — a sea of green — is as infinite 
in sight as is the Mediterranean. There are 
splendid villas and estates in these Alban hills 



that belong to the Roman nobility, and here 
the Pope has his summer palace. *'The Alban 
Mount is also full of historical and legendary 
interest," says a writer on the country around 
Rome. *^The Latin tribe, one of the constitu- 
ent elements of the Roman people, had here 
its seat. Upon the highest peak of the range 
was the temple of Jupiter Latiaris, where all 
the tribes of Latin blood, the Romans included, 
met every year to worship; and where the vic- 
torious generals of the Republic repaired to 
offer praises and acknowledgments. In these 
mountain glens undoubtedly most of that 
ballad literature of Rome, the loss of which 
Macaulay so eloquently laments and so suc- 
cessfully restores, had its origin. Nor need the 
scholar be reminded that this is the scene of 
the most original and vigorous portions of the 
Mneid of Virgil; nor how the genius of the 
poet, which rather languidly recounts the tradi- 
tions borrowed from Greece, wakes to new life, 
when he feels his feet upon his own soil and 
deals with Latin names and Latin legends." 

The Villa Aldobrandini at Frascati is cele- 
brated for its fantastic waterworks in elabo- 
rate fountains and cascades. In the gardens a 



statue of Pan with a pipe of reeds and one of a 
satjr with a trumpet are made to play (both 
the pipe and the trumpet) by water. The 
hydraulic engineer must have found in Frascati 
his earthly paradise, for he commanded the 
water to leap into foam and spray in the air, 
to rush down marble terraces, and to form 
itself into obelisks of liquid silver. 

At Grotto Ferrata is a vast monastery of 
monks of the Order of Basilio (Greek), a 
monastery so colossal as to be mistaken for a 
fortress. The chapel has frescoes by Domeni- 
chino. At Castel Gandolfo is the sunmier 
Papal palace, that has not been occupied by a 
Pope since the overthrowing of the temporal 
power in 1870. It has a beautiful and com- 
manding view toward Rome. It was built by 
Urban VIH. 

All the magic of Italy is in this picturesque 
excursion. In the vast grounds of the Villa 
Barberini are the ruins of the ancient palace 
and gardens of Domitian. On one hillside is 
a broken wall; a long avenue of ilex trees 
reveals here and there fragments of mosaic 
pavement. Crumbling niches hold fragments 
of statues. The hill itself is still pierced with 


the long tunnels driven through it by Domitian 
that he might pass unseen, — presumably safe 
from his enemies, — from the palace to the 
gardens. From the parapet, Rome is seen 
across the shining Campagna and the dome of 
Michael Angelo gleams against the blue Italian 

"The wreck is beautiful," writes Mrs. Hum- 
phry Ward, in "Eleanor," of this romantic 
spot; "for it is masked in the gloom of the 
overhanging trees; or hidden behind dropping 
veils of ivy; or lit up by straggling patches of 
broom and cytisus that thrust themselves through 
the gaps in the Roman brickwork and shine 
golden in the dark. At the foot of the wall, 
along its whole length, runs a low marble con- 
duit that held the sweetest, liveliest water. 
Lilies of the valley grow beside it, breathing 
scent into the shadowed air; while on the outer 
or garden side of the path the grass is purple 
with long-stalked violets, or pink with the 
sharp heads of the cyclamen. And a little 
farther, from the same grass, there shoots up, 
in happy neglect, tall camellia trees, ragged 
and laden, strewing the ground red and white 
beneath them. And above the camellias again 



the famous stone-pines of the villa climb into 
the high air, overlooking the plain and the sea, 
peering at Rome and Soracte." 

One could wander all day in the strange 
ruins of the old Barberini grounds, and in 
the vast spaces of the gardens and through 
the Villa Dona. 

The beauty of the avenue of ilex trees through 
which we flew from Castel Gandolfo to Lago 
di Nemi surpasses description. This lake, some 
four miles in circumference, lies in a crater 
hollow, with precipitous hills surrounding it, 
the water so clear that the ancients called it 
the ** Mirror of Diana." In it was con- 
structed an artificial island in the design of 
a Roman state barge. 

Over the long viaduct at Ariccia we flew; 
everywhere in the little town people, donkeys 
— an almost indistinguishable mass — filled the 
narrow streets ; and thus on to Grenzano and 
the Lago di Nemi, with its fabled fleet at the 

The Chigi woods, that fill the deep ravine 
under the great viaduct at Ariccia, were in the 
most brilliant emerald green. Past these forests 
lay the vast stretch of the Pontine Marshes ; and 



tuming toward Rome again, the splendor of 
the sunset flamed in the sky. One could but 
recall Mrs. Humphry Ward's vivid picture of 
a storm seen over this part of the Cam- 
pagna: — 

'*The sunset was rushing to its height through 
every possible phase of violence and splendor. 
From the Mediterranean, storm clouds were 
rising fast to the assault and conquest of the 
upper sky, which still above the hills shone 
blue and tranquil. But the northwest wind and 
the sea were leagued against it. They sent out 
threatening fingers and long spiiming veils of 
cloud across it — skirmishers that foretold the 
black and serried lines, the torn and monstrous 
masses behind. Below these wild tempest 
shapes again — in long spaces resting on the 
sea — the heaven was at peace, shining in deli- 
cate greens and yellows, infinitely translucent 
and serene, above the dazzling lines of water. 
Over Rome itself there was a strange massing 
and curving of the clouds. Between their black- 
ness and the deep purple of the Campagna rose 
the city — pale phantom — upholding one great 
dome, and one only, to view of night and the 



world. Round and above and behind, beneath 
the long flat arch of the storm, glowed a furnace 
of scarlet light. The buildings of the city were 
faint specks within its fierce intensity, dimly 
visible through a sea of fire. St. Peter's alone, 
without visible foundation or support, had con- 
sistence, form, identity; and between the city 
and the hills, waves of blue and purple shade, 
forerunners of the night, stole over the Cam- 
pagna towards the higher ground. But the 
hills themselves were still shining, still clad in 
rose and amethyst, caught in gentler repetition 
from the wildness of the west. Pale rose even 
the olive gardens; rose the rich brown fallows, 
the emerging farms; while drawn across the 
Campagna from north to south, as though some 
mighty brush had just laid it there for sheer 
lust of color, sheer joy in the mating it with the 
rose, — one long strip of sharpest, purest green." 

The Villa Falconicri, in Frascati, which was 
built by Cardinal Ruffini, with the old ilex tree 
preserved in the portals, has recently been pur- 
chased by the Emperor of Grermany, who pro- 
poses to transform it into an Academy for the 
acconmiodation of Grerman students in Rome. 



These national academies draw their corre- 
sponding numbers of students from the nations 
thus represented, and contribute to the cos- 
mopolitan aspects of Rome. The American 
Academy in Rome is now being transferred 
from the Ludovisi quarter to a large and con- 
venient building outside Porta Pia. 

Perhaps the eminently social quality of 
Roman life may be indirectly due to the lack of 
library privileges which is a conspicuous defect 
in Rome. The Biblioteca Vittorio Emanuele, 
under the courteous administration of Com- 
mendatore Conte Guili, has, it is true, a collec- 
tion of over half a million volumes and thou- 
sands of very rare and valuable manuscripts. 
It has a large public reading room, and books 
are loaned on the signature of any embassy or 
consulate; yet this library, while offering pecu- 
liar advantages to theological and other special 
students and readers, does not afford any ex- 
tended privileges to the general reader of modem 
English and American publications. It is lo- 
cated in a grim and forbidding old stone palace, 
approached by an obscure lane from the Corso, 
where, as there is no sidewalk, the pedestrian 
shares the narrow, dark, cold, stone-paved 



little street with carts, donkeys, peasants, and 

The great monument to King Victor Enmian* 
uel, of mingled architecture and sculpture, a co- 
lossal structure of white marble with arches and 
pillars forming beautiful colonnades, the capital 
of each column heavily carved, and the sculpture, 
which is being done by a number of artists, 
will be of the most artistic and beautiful order. 
This memorial will occupy an entire block, and 
it is located very near the Capitol. All the old 
buildings in the vicinity will be torn down to 
give a fine vista for this transcendently noble 
and sumptuous memorial. 

The directors of this work aim to have it 
completed and ready to be unveiled in 1911, the 
jubilee year of Italy's* resurrection as a united 

Encircled by the old Aurelian wall and near 
the great pyramid that marks the tomb of 
Caius Cestius, who died 12 B.C., lies the Prot- 
estant cemetery of Rome, full of bloom and 
fragrance and beauty, under the dark, solenm 
cypress trees that stand like ever-watchful 
sentinels. When Keats was buried here ^n 
1820), Shelley wrote of "the romantic and 



lovely cemetery . . . under the pyramid of 
Caius CestiuSy and the mossy walls and towers 
now mouldering and desolate which formed 
the circuit of ancient Rome. The cemetery 
is an open space among the ruins, covered 
even in winter with violets and daisies. It 
might make one in love with death/' he added, 
^Ho think of being buried in so sweet a 

In the old cemetery (inmiediately adjoining 
the pyramid and separated from the new one 
by a wall) is the grave of Keats (who died in 
1821) with its unique inscription, "Here lies 
one whose name was writ in water." Beside it is 
that of his friend, Joseph Severn, who died in 
1829, and near these the grave of John Bell, 
the famous writer on surgery and anatomy. In 
the new or more modem cemetery the visitor 
lingers by the graves of Shelley and his friend, 
Trelawney; August Goethe (the son of the 
poet) ; of William and Mary Howitt, who 
died in 1879 and 1888. Not merely, however, 
do the names of Keats and Shelley allure the 
visitor to poetic meditations; but here lie the 
earthly forms of many a poet, painter, and 
sculptor of our own country, with their wives 



and children, who have sought in the Eternal 
City the atmosphere for art and who, enamoured 
by the loveliness of Rome, continued there for 
all their remaining years. These graves, these 
sculptured memorials, are eloquent with the 
joys, the sorrows, the achievements and the 
failures, the success and the defeat, of the 
artistic life in a foreign land. Many of these 
memorial sculptures are the work of the hus- 
band or the father, into which is inseparably 
joined the personal tenderness to the artist's 
skill. Especially noticeable are the graves of 
the wives of three American sculptors, — Wil- 
liam Wetmore Story, Richard S. Greenough, and 
Franklin Simmons. Each of these is marked 
by a memorial sculpture created by the hus- 
band, and the three different conceptions of 
these sculptors are interesting to contrast. That 
of Mr. Story is of an angel with outspread 
wings, kneeling, her head bowed in the utter 
despair and desolation of hopeless sorrow. 
The figure has the greatest delicacy of beauty 
and refinement and tenderness; but it is the 
grief that has no support of faith, the grief that 
has no vision of divine consolation. On the 
memorial monument is simply the name, Emelyn 



Story, bom in Boston, 18S0, died in Rome 
in 1898, and the note that it is the last work of 
W. W. Story, in memory of his beloved wife. 
Here, also, is Mr. Story buried, his name and 
dates of birth and death (1819-1901) alone 
being inscribed. 

At the tomb of Sarah B. Greenough, the wife 
of Richard S. Greenough, the monument is 
designed to represent Psyche escaping from the 
bondage of mortality. This Psyche is emerg- 
ing from her garments and she holds in her 
hand a lamp. On this is the inscription: ^^Her 
loss was that as of a keystone to an arch." 

Mrs. Greenough was a veiy accomplished 
musician, and she had the unique honor of 
having been made a member of the "Arca- 

The memorial sculpture over the grave of 
Mrs. Franklin Simmons is, as elsewhere noted, 
the work of her husband, a figure called "The 
Angel of the Resurrection." The angel is rep- 
resented as a male figure (Gabriel) holding in 
the left hand a golden trumpet while the right 
is outstretched. His wings are spread, his face 
partly turned to the right. The form is par- 
tially draped and in every detail is instinct 



with a complete haxmonj; every fold of the 
drapery, every curve of the body, and the lofty 
and triumphant expression of the face in its 
ineffable glory of achievement proclaim the 
triumph of immortality. It stands on a ped- 
estal that gives it, from the base of the pedestal 
to the tip of the outstretched wings, a height of 
some twenty-one feet. This monument, seen 
against a background of dark cypress trees, 
speaks the word of positive and complete faith 
in the divine promise of eternal life. 

"Then life is — to wake, not sleep. 

Rise and not rest, but press 
From earth's level where blindly creep 

Things perfected, more or less. 
In the heaven's height — far and steep." 

The visitor lingers over the grave of that 
interesting painter, J. Rollin Tilton, whose land- 
scapes from Egypt and Italian scenes were so 
vivid and picturesque. 

Richard Henry Dana, the elder, bom in Bos- 
ton in 1815, came to Rome to die in 1882. 

Very near the tomb of William Wetmore and 
Emelyn Story is that of Constance Fenimore 
Woolson. Over the graves of William and 



Mary Howitt is the inscription: "Let not your 
heaxt be troubled; believe in God, believe also 
in me." 

On the wall just back of the new tomb erected 
over the ashes of Shelley by Onslow Ford 
in 1891 is a memorial tablet placed to Fred- 
erick W. H. Myers, bearing this inscription : — 

"This tablet is placed to the memory of 
Frederick William Henry Myers, bom at Kes- 
wick, Cumberiand, Feb. 6, 1843; died in Rome, 
Jan. 17, 1901. *He asked life of Thee, and 
Thou gavest him long life ever and forever.'" 

Over the grave of John Addington Symonds, 
whose best monument is in his admirable His- 
tory of the Renaissance in Italy, is a Latin 
inscription written by Professor Jowett of Ox- 
ford, and a stanza from the Greek of Cleanthes, 
translated by Mr. Symonds as follows: — 

"Lead thou, our God, law, reason, motion, life; 
All names for Thee alike are vain and hollow; 
Lead me, for I will follow without strife. 
Or, if I strive, still more I blindlj follow." 

John Addington Symonds, who certainly 
ranks as the most gifted interpreter of Italy, 


in her art, her legends and associations, and 
her landscape loveliness, died in the Rome he 
so loved in 1893. His wife was ill in Venice, 
but his daughter, Margaret, — his insepara- 
ble companion and his helper in his work, — 
was with him. It is Miss Symonds who pref- 
aced a memorial volume to her father with 
the exquisite lines: — 

O Love; we two shaD go no longer 
To ianda of summer beyond the sea.' 

Near the graves of Keats and of his friend, 
Joseph Severn, are those of Augustus William 
Hare and John Gibson, the sculptor, who died 
in 1868. Some ten years before Hawthorne, 
meeting Gibson at a dinner given by T. Bu- 
chanan Read, wrote of him that it was whispered 
about the table that he had been in Rome 
for forty-two years and that he had a quiet, 
self-contained aspect as of one who had spent 
a calm life among his clay and marble. 

Dwight Benton, an American painter and 
writer, who was for some time in the dip- 
lomatic service and whose home had been in 
Rome for more than a quarter of a century, 



lies buried here. For many years he was the 
editor of The Roman World, which still sus- 
tains the interesting character that marked it 
during his editorship. Of his work in art a 
friend wrote : — 

"In painting, as in literature, Dwight Benton 
took his inspiration from nature. His paintings 
of Italian scenery are true and faithful repre- 
sentations of its character and atmospheric 
effects. His tramps on the Roman Campagna 
were long and often tiring, but he worked with 
all an artist's enthusiasm, unmindful of cold, 
rain, and even hunger. He would delight, as 
all true artists, in an old convent, a tree, a tower, 
a cross, which he would reproduce with a 
peculiar and striking perfection of tone and 
color. In his paintings of Keats's and Shelley's 
tombs, not only are the slabs and marble there, 
but there, also, in all their naturalness, are the 
stately pines and cypresses above, with the sun- 
shine and shadows alternating between them, 
and in the background the turreted top of 
St. Paul's Gateway, the Pjn^amid of Caius 
Cestius, all lending effect and picturesqueness 
to the whole.** 


The present King of Italy purchased one of 
Mr. Benton's paintings, called ^'Giomata di 

While art abounds in Rome, less can be said 
for literature. There is a large and admirable 
selected Italian library in connection with the 
CoUegio Romano; but while these books circu- 
late, under certain conditions, to visitors, and 
the courtesy of the librarian and his staff is 
generously kind, the location and the Italian 
methods render it a matter of some difficulty 
to avail one's self of its resources. In the 
Piazza di Spagna there are two circulating 
libraries, but although one of these claims 
twenty-five thousand volumes, the majority are 
of mediocre fiction and almost none, if any, of 
the important modem works are to be found here. 
The visitor who is a subscriber to this library 
passes into a small, dark room, where one 
window looking on the street hardly does more 
than make the darkness visible, and he must 
take the catalogue to the window and stand in 
order to decipher the list, which is hardly, 
indeed, worth the trouble, as there are very 
few volumes of any pretension to importance in 
the collection, and of late years no additions, 



apparently, have ever been made. The other 
circulating library, while far preferable, is still 
in crowded rooms and the assortment b limited. 
The visitor in Borne who cares for reading 
matter looks forward with delight to Florence, 
with its noble circulating library, to which 
access is so easy and whose conduct in all ways 
is so convenient and grateful to the guest. 

In Rome, however, one finds his romance 
embodied in life and his history written in the 
streets and in the marvellous structures. His 
poetry is in her art, her ruins, her magical 
loveliness of hillside vistas, her infinite views 
over the Campagna, her sapphire skies, and her 
luminous, golden atmosphere. 


''Here Ischia smUee 
O'er Uqwd milee^ 

And yonder^ Uueet of the ides^ 
Calm Capri weals 
Her sapphire gates. 

Beguiling to her bright estates" 

^Oh, Signorl thine the amber hand. 
And mine the distant sea 
Obedient to the least command 
Thine eyes impose on me,** 



''With dreamful ejes 
My spirit lies 
Wlieie mmmier sings but never dies.** 

Naples is the paradise of excursions. It is set 
in the heart of incomparable loveliness. Over 
its sapphire sea one sails away — to the For- 
tunate Isles, or some others equally alluring. 
Its heights and adjacent mountains offer views 
that one might well cross the ocean to enjoy. 
Its atmosphere is full of classic interest ; of song, 
and story, and legend, and romance; of history, 
too, which in its tragic and exciting episodes is 
not less vivid in color and in strange studies 
of human life than is any romance. Naples 
is the city of fascination. Rome is stately and 
impressive; Florence is all beauty and en- 
chantment; Genoa is picturesque; Venice is a 
dream city; but Naples is simply — fascinating. 
There is the common life of the streets and the 


populace continually en scene; the people who 
are at home on the sunny side in winter, or the 
shady side in summer; there is the social life 
of the nobility, which is brilliant and vivacious. 
The excursions, of which Naples is the centre, 
are the chief interest to travellers, and these, 
while possible in winter, are far more enjoyable 
in the early spring. Still even in midwinter 
the days are sunny, and while the air is crisp 
and cool, it is not cold. The grass is as green 
as in June ; but the foliage and flowers are more 
or less withered. Naples has the high and the 
lower town, the former the more desirable, and 
the fine hotels perched on the terraces, with 
the view all over the Bay of Naples, Capri, 
Sorrento, and Vesuvius, offer a vista hardly to be 
duplicated in the entire world. The lower town 
has its fine hotels on the water's edge, with a 
beautiful view over the bay, less enchanting 
than when seen from above. The Bay of Na- 
ples is enclosed in two semicircular arms that 
extend far out at sea, the southern reaching 
nearly to Capri, while near the termination of the 

"Fair Isdiis smiles 
O'er liquid miles.'* 


Far out at sea the sun shines dazzUngly on 
the blue Mediterranean. The landscape is full 
of those curious formations that are always 
inherent in volcanic regions. The region sur- 
rounding Naples is abrupt, picturesque, with the 
same irregular outline of hills that character- 
izes the elevations in the Tonto basin in Arizona. 
The vegetation is of the tropical type. The 
cactus is conmion, although it grows to no such 
monstrous heights as in Arizona. Orange and 
lemon groves prevail as far as the eye can see. 
On every height towns and villages crown the 
crests and sweep in winding terraces around the 
hillsides. Olive orchards abound. Castles and 
ruins gleam white in the sunshine on the ledge 
of rocky precipices. The curved shores shine 
like broken lines of silver, with deep indenta- 
tions at Naples and at Castellammare. Between 
these two points rises Vesuvius, the thin blue 
smoke constantly curling from the summit that, 
since the eruption of 1906, has lost much of its 
elevation. In many places there is hardly the 
width of a roadway between the low mountains 
and the coast, but the cliffs are tropically luxuri- 
ous in vegetation. Everywhere the habitations 
of the people crowd the space. From the mou- 


asteries and the castles that crown the heights, 
both distant and near to the clustered vil- 
lages of the plain and those clinging to the 
hillsides, the scene is one unending panorama 
of human life. For Naples is only the focussing 
point of these densely populated regions of 
Southern Italy. The city stretches along the 
coast on both sides her semicircular bay; but 
the terraced hills, the stretches of land beyond, 
and every peak and valley are thickly sown 
with human habitations. Its commanding 
heights, two of which rise in the middle of the 
town, and its beautiful mirrored expanse of 
water give to it the most unparalleled variety 
and beauty of landscape loveliness. 

**What words can analyze," says George S. 
Hillard, ""the parts and details of this match- 
less panorama, or unravel that magic web of 
beauty into which palaces, villas, forests, gar- 
dens, vineyards, the mountains, and the sea are 
woven? What pen can paint the soft curves, 
the gentle undulations, the flowing outlines, the 
craggy steeps, and the far-seen heights, which, 
in their combination, are so full of grace and, 
at the same time, expression ? Words here are 
imperfect instruments, and must yield their 



place to the pencil and the graver. But no 
canvas can reproduce the light and color which 
play round this enchanting region. No skill 
can catch the changing hues of the distant 
mountains, the star-points of the playing waves, 
the films of purple and green which spread 
themselves over the calm waters, the sunsets of 
gold and orange, and the aerial veils of rose and 
amethyst which drop upon the hills from the 
skies of morning and evening. The author of 
the book of Ecclesiasticus seems to have de- 
scribed Naples, when he speaks of Hhe pride 
of the height, the clear firmament, the beauty 
of heaven, with his glorious show.' * See Naples 
and then die,' is a well-known Italian saying; 
but it should read, *See Naples and then live.' 
One glance at such a scene stamps upon the 
memory an image which, forever after, gives a 
new value to life." 

Naples gives to the visitor the impression of 
being a city without a past. If she has a his- 
tory, it is not written in her streets. She is 
poetic and picturesque, not historic. The 
heights of Capodimonte and Sant' Elmo divide 
her into unequal parts, and there is the old 
Naples which only the antiquarian or the poUt- 



ical economist would wish to see, and the new 
and modem city which is such a miracle of 
beauty that one longs to stay forever, and fails 
to wonder that the siren sought these shores. 
Naples has either been very much misrepre- 
sented as to its prevailing manners and customs, 
or else it has changed within the past decade, 
for, as a rule, the gentle courtesy and kindness 
of the people are especially appealing. Augus- 
tus often sojourned m Naples, and it was an 
especially poetic haunt of Virgil, whose tomb is 
here. Although the poverty and the primitive 
life of the great masses of the people have been 
widely discussed, it is yet true that Naples has 
a very charming social life, and that the Uni- 
versity is a centre of learning and culture. 
One of the oldest universities in Europe, it has 
a faculty of over one hundred and twenty pro- 
fessors and more than five thousand students. 
A large and valuable library, and a mineral- 
ogical collection which specialists from all over 
the world come to study, are among the treas- 
ures of this University, which was founded in 
the early part of the thirteenth century by 
Emperor Frederick William II. There is now in 
process of erection a new group of buildings 



which will embody the latest laboratory and 
library and other privileges. Archaeology is, 
naturally, a special feature of the University of 
Naples, and the proximity to Pompeii, Hercu- 
laneum, and to the wonderful Pompeian collec- 
tion in the Museum of Naples affords peculiar 
and unrivalled advantages to students. A bust 
of Thomas Aquinas, during his life a lecturer 
at this University, is one of the interesting treas- 
ures. The Archives of the Kingdom of Naples 
attract many a scholar and savant to this city. 
There are in this collection (which is kept in 
the monastery adjoining the Church of San 
Severino) over forty thousand Greek manu- 
scripts, some of which date back to the year 
700. The Naples Museum is the great reposi- 
tory of all Pompeian art, and it is rich in sculp- 
ture; but it is badly arranged and the vast series 
of galleries and the long flights of stairs make 
any study of its work so fatiguing that a visit 
to it might rank as one of the seven labors of 

In the royal museum of the Palazzo di 
Capodimonte, which is located on the beautiful 
height bearing that name, there are some pic- 
tures that are well worth visiting, not because 



they are particularly good art, but because of 
the interest attaching to the subjects. This 
gallery is largely the work of modem Neapolitan 
artists. Here is the celebrated picture of 
Michael Angelo bending over the dead body of 
Vittoria Colonna, kissing only her hand, and 
haunted by the after-regret that he did not kiss 
her forehead. Virginia Lebrun has here por- 
traits of Maria Theresa and of the Duchess of 
Parma; there is one canvas (by Celentano) show- 
ing Benvenuto Cellini at the Castel Sant Angelo ; 
a scene depicting the death of Caesar and a few 
others of some degree of interest. 

Curiously, Naples has never produced great 
art. Salvator Rosa was, to be sure, a Neapoli- 
tan, but his is almost the only name that has 
made itself immortal in the art of this city. 
Domenico Morelli, who has recently died, 
made himself felt as an original painter v^th 
certain claims that arrested attention. He is 
not a draughtsman, but he is a colorist of passion- 
ate intensity; he has original power and, more 
than all, he has a curious endowment of what 
may be called artistic clairvoyance. Transport- 
ing himself by the magic of thought to places 
on which his eye never rested, he yet sees as 



in vision their special characteristics. In one 
of his most important works, the motive of 
which is the temptation of Jesus in the wil- 
derness, he has painted the desert with a start- 
Eng reality. Here is a great plain, the stony, 
parched Judean plain, with the very feeling of 
its desolation pervading the atmosphere. The 
Royal Chapel in Naples was decorated by 
Morelli, the ceiling painted with an '^ Assump- 
tion of the Virgin,'' which stands alone in all 
the interpretations of this theme; not by virtue 
of superior artistic excellence, — on the con- 
trary its art does not make a strong appeal, 
— but by its originality of treatment. The 
"Salve Regina'' and the "Da Scala d'Oro" 
are among the more interesting works of this 
artist, whose recent death has removed a figure 
of exceptional character in modem art, one 
who had, pre-eminently, the courage of his 
convictions. Some few years ago Morelli's 
** Temptation of St. Anthony" was exhibited 
in both Paris and Florence, and was generally 
condemned, perhaps because not wholly under- 
stood. The form of the temptation was sup- 
posed to be the shapes taken by a morbid and 
diseased imagination; but while as a psycho- 


logical conception it was not without value, 
it was yet far from attractive as a work of art. 
The finest conception, perhaps, ever depicted 
of the temptation of St. Anthony — a subject 
that has haunted many an artist — is that 
painted by the late Carl Guthers of Washington, 
a lofty and gifted spirit whose too brief stay 
on earth ended in the early months of 1907. 
In this picture the temptation of the saint 
appears as a vision of all that is purest and 
sweetest in hfe, — wife, children, home; it was 
from all this peace and loveliness that St. An- 
thony turned, sacrificing personal happiness to 
the duty of consecrated service to his Master, 
in the exquisite conception of Mr. Guthers. 
Edoardo Dalbano is the typical leader of the 
Neapolitan school of painting of the present 
day, and his fascinating picture, called the 
"Isle of Sirens," representing the sirens sing- 
ing in the sunlit Bay of Naples, might well be 
held as the keynote to all this enchanting 
region. Surely, if the sirens sing not in those 
blue waters, it were useless to search elsewhere 
for them. Buono is an artist of the Neapolitan 
shores, who paints its fisher-folk; Brancaccio 
catches the very spirit and animated atmosphere 



of the street scenes of Naples; Camprani and 
Pratello are landscapists of note; Esposito, too, 
despite his Spanish name, is a Neapolitan 
marine painter whose work is often most ar- 
resting in its power to catch the flickering sun- 
shine over blue water that bathes the rocks 
rising out of the sea, — these isles of the 
sirens from which float the melodies that en- 
chanted Odysseus. 

The traveller may be surprised to find that 
in size Naples ranks fourth on the European 
Continent, — Paris, Berlin, and St. Petersburg, 
only, exceeding it. Naples should be, not 
only a port, a pleasure haunt, and a paradise 
for excursions, but one of the great cities 
of the world in commercial and in social im- 
portance. It has one of the finest natural 
harbors of the world; it has a beautiful and 
attractive adjoining country in which to extend, 
indefinitely, its residence and trade districts; 
it has the most enchanting fairyland of views 
that ever were seen this side the ethereal world ; 
it has an atmosphere of song and story and a 
climate that is far from being objectionable. 
Naples is seldom the possessor of a higher 
temperature in summer than is New York or 



Boston; the winters axe mild, and they o£Per 
weeks of sunny loveliness when Rome is swept 
by the icy tramontana from the snow-clad 
Alban hills. Naples ofiPers, too, exceedingly 
good facilities for living; the groups of excellent 
hotels, both on the terraces and on the water's 
edge in the lower town and along the Villa 
Nazionale, oflFer every comfort, and the polite- 
ness and courtesy of the Neapolitans, as a rule, 
are among the aUuring features of this enchant- 
ing city. 

What shall be said of one hotel, especially, 
perched on the cliffs, to which one ascends 
by an elevator, finding it the most luxurious 
fairyland that imagination can conjure ? Leav- 
ing the street one walks through a marble tunnel 
lighted with electricity, wondering if he is, in- 
deed, in the grotto of the Muses. Entering a 
"lift** truly American in its comfort and speed, 
he is wafted up the heights and steps out in — 
is it paradise? Here is a large salon entirely 
of glass ¥dth an incomparable view all over 
the gleaming bay, with Capri and Sorrento shin- 
ing fair on the opposite sides and Vesuvius, a 
purple peak, in the near distance. The great 
city of Naples lies spread out below, with its 



interior heights of Capodimonte and others. It 
is a view for which alone one might well sail 
the four thousand miles of sea from the Ameri- 
can shores. Through open French windows one 
may step out on the terrace. If it is cold he 
may still enjoy this sublimely wonderful view 
behind the glass walls that reveal all its beauty 
and protect him from wind or chill. Elsewhere 
adjoining salons stretch away, where sunshine, 
music, reading matter, and dainty writing-desks 
allure the guest and create for him, indeed, an 
earthly paradise. 

Of the drive on the Strada Nuova di Posilipo, 
skirting the coast while following the winding 
rise of the hill, with the sumptuous villas and 
gardens on one side and the blue sea on the 
other, — what words can suggest its charm ? 
On a jutting promontory on the ruins of the 
Palazzo di Donna Ana are seen the palace 
whose convenient location made it possible for 
the royal hosts to throw their guests into the 
sea whenever they became tiresome, an accom- 
modation that the modem hostess might, at 
times, appreciate. On this road, winding up 
the Posilipo, is the villa where Garibaldi passed 
the last winter of his life and which is marked 



by a tablet. And everywhere and at every turn 
are the beautiful views, commanding Bagnoli, 
Camaldoli, Ischia, Baia and Procida, Capri, 
Nisida and the Neapolitan waters. The hill 
slopes are overgrown with myrtles and orange 
trees and roses. Here and there a defile is 
filled with a vineyard under careful culture. 

In the presence of all this marvel of nature's 
loveliness the visitor hardly remembers the his- 
toric interest; yet it was on the little island of 
Nisida that Brutus and Cassius concocted the 
conspiracy against Caesar. The vast Phlegrsean 
Plain before the eye is invested with Hellenic 
traditions and is the region of many scenes in 
the poems of Virgil and Homer. In the years 
of the first and second centuries this plain was 
dotted with the rich villas of the Roman aris- 
tocracy. Here, too, lay the celebrated Lacus 
Avemus, a volcanic lake which the ancients 
regarded as the entrance to Avemus itself. 
Truly it required little imagination to see here 
the approach to the infernal regions. The air 
was so poisonous that no bird could fly over the 
lake and live. Virgil's scene of the descent of 
JSneas, guided by the sibyl, into the infernal 
depths is laid here; and near this lake are 





resorts of the latter-day tourist, known as the 
"Sibyl's Grotto," the "Grotto della Pace," 
the "Bagni di Sibyl," and the "Inferno." 

Baia, on the coast, was the Newport of Rome 
in the days of Augustus, Hadrian, Cicero, and 
Nero. It was then the most magnificent 
summer watering-place known to the world. 
The glory of the Roman Empire was reflected 
in the glory of Baia. In one of the Epistles of 
Horace a Roman noble is made to say: 
"Nothing in the world can be compared with 
the lovely bay of Baia." Some five hundred 
years ago this region became so malarial that 
no one could dwell in it. Fragments and ruins 
still remain of the imposing baths and villas 
of the Roman occupancy. An old crater called 
the Capo Miseno is described by Virgil as the 
burial place of Misenus: — 

**At fius JEneoB ingenti mole sepulcrum 
Inponii, nuique arma viro remumque tubamque 
Monte stih aereo, qui nunc Miaenue ah iUo 
DicUur aetemumque tend per saectda nomen.** 

Cumse was the most ancient Greek colony of 
Italy on the coast, and the last survivors of the 
Tarquinii died here. This b the most classic 



of all these legendary coast towns near Naples, 
as it was here that the Cumsean Sibyl dwelt 
vrith the mysterious sibylline leaves, — the books 
that were carried to Rome. A colossal Acrop- 
olis was once here, fragments of whose walls 
are now standing; and the rocky foundation is 
honeycombed with secret passages and open- 
ings. It is here that VirgiFs ** Grotto of the 
Sibyl " is supposed to have stood, — the grotto 
'^ whence resound as many voices, the oracles 
of the prophetess." 

The journey from Naples to Herculaneum is 
easily made by electric train cars within an hour, 
and while there is not much to see it is still an 
excursion well worth making. Dr. de Petra, 
of the chair of Archaeology in the University 
of Naples, and formerly the Director of the 
National Museum, is warmly in favor of the 
proposed excavation of this buried city, as is 
Professor Spinazzola of the San Martino mu- 
seum, who believes that Italy may well become 
one vast museum of antiquities. "As the 
theatre of Herculaneum is actually at present 
a subterranean excavation,*' he observed, "why 
not excavate in a similar way the entire city 
underneath modem Resina? In this way a 


perfectly unique underground museum would 
be formed, which would have the merit of 
leaving magnificent Roman art treasures exactly 
in their proper places in the villas. Such a 
work ought to be perfectly practicable, with 
the resources of modem engineering, and would 
certainly be unique in the world. 

*' There would be no need to build a special 
museum for the objects discovered. Not only 
would this money be saved, but I feel convinced 
that so many vi3itors would be attracted as to 
more than pay for the maintenance. A sub- 
terraneous Herculaneum — surely a perfectly 
unique place of pilgrimage, just as it was nearly 
two thousand years ago — might be lighted by 
electric arc lights. I feel certain it would attract 
sight-seers from the ends of the world. At the 
same time work might go on in the open parts 
of the city. 

*' Pompeii was more of an industrial town, 
while Herculaneum was a favorite resort of the 
Roman patricians, who did not bring their treas- 
ures with them from their northern homes, but 
had them executed by Greek artists in the south." 

Under the mighty floods of kmi d^aequa that 
buried Herculaneum doubtless lie temples, a 



splendid forum, magnificent villas, and most 
valuable art and literary treasures. In the 
eighteenth century excavations brought to light 
rare bronzes, mosaics, and papyri. The famous 
equestrian statue of Bulbi, in the Naples Mu- 
seum, was excavated from Herculaneum. Pro- 
fessor Lanciani and Commendatore Boni of 
Rome — the latter the present director of the 
Forum, succeding Lanciani — believe that some 
of the richest art of ancient times may be found 
in Herculaneum; as does Professor Dall' Osso, 
inspector of excavations at Pompeii. 

Herculaneum is held to have been founded 
by Hercules when he landed at Campania, 
returning from Iberia, some three hundred years 
B.C., and it was in 63 A.D. that it was de- 
stroyed. Of this cataclysm Pliny, the Younger, 
wrote : — 

"The sea seemed to roll back on itself by the 
convulsions of the earth. On the other side 
hung a black and dreadful cloud, bursting with 
fiery and serpentine vapors. Naught was heard 
in the darkness but the shrieks of women, the 
screams of children, and the frenzied cries of 
men calling for children, for wives, for parents, 



— all lifting hands to the gods, praying and 
wishing for death." 

Dr. Charles Waldstein of Cambridge Uni- 
versity, the eminent archaeologist, whose eflForts 
toward initiating the excavation of Hercu- 
laneum were a notable event of 1906, thus 
writes of this buried city : — 

''It is important to bear in mind that naturally 
all the best works in the Museum of Naples, 
especially the bronzes, came from Herculaneum 
and not from Pompeii. 

"What is most striking is the marvellous 
preservation of these works. This fact of itself 
ought to counteract the strange but widespread 
misapprehension that, while Pompeii was cov- 
ered with cinders and ashes, Herculaneum was 
covered with lava, and that the hardness of 
that material made excavation difficult, if not 
impossible. All geologists and archaeologists are 
agreed that no lava issued from the eruption of 
79 A.D. Herculaneum was covered by a torrent 
of mud consisting of ashes and cinders mixed 
with water. The mass which covers it, so far 
from being less favorable to the preservation 


of objects, is much more favorable than that 
which covers Pompeii. Pompeii was partially 
covered with hot ashes and pumice stones, 
which burnt or damaged the works of art. As 
it was not wholly covered, moreover, the in- 
habitants returned and dug up some of their 
greatest treasures. Herculaneum, on the other 
hand, had its actual life, arrested at the highest 
point, securely preserved from depredation, to 
a depth of eighty feet, by a material which pre- 
served intact the most delicate specimens which 
have come down to us in a state so perfect as 
to be really remarkable. 

"The most important of these deUcate objects 
are manuscripts, of which that one villa pro- 
duced 1750. The state of preservation is illus- 
trated by one specimen, giving two pages from 
the works of the philosopher Philademus. Un- 
fortunately, the possessor of the villa was a 
specialist, a student of Epicurean philosophy. 
While his taste in art was fortunately so catho- 
lic, his taste in literature was narrowed down 
by his special bent. Piso was the friend and 
protector of the philosopher Philo. Already 
sixty-five copies of that author's works have 
been found among the papyri. 



"Yet the city of Herculaneum contained many 
such villas, and herein it differed from Pompeii. 
Pompeii was a commonplace provincial town 
devoted exclusively to commerce ; it was not the 
resort of wealthy and cultured Romans. It was 
essentially illiterate. No manuscript can be 
proved to have been found there. It is true a 
wax tablet with writing has been found ; yet this 
contains — receipts of auctions. Herculaneum, 
on the other hand, was the favorite resort of 
wealthy Romans, who built beautiful villas there 
as in our times people from modem Rome 
settle for the summer at Sorrento and Castel- 

The present descent into the theatre of Her- 
culaneum is made by a flight of more than a 
hundred steps, slippery and cold, in total 
darkness save for the candle that is carried by 
the guide, and the visitor sees only the stone 
seats of the amphitheatre and the stage with 
the two vacant niches, the statues that filled 
each being now placed in the Museum in 

The journey of thirteen miles from Naples 
to Pompeii is through a succession of densely 



populated villages that seem to be an integral 
part of Naples itself, for there is no line of 
demarcation. Portici, Torre del Greco, Torre 
dell' Annunziata, and others all blend with each 
other and with Naples. However familiar one 
has become with the literature of Pompeii, with 
both archaeological descriptions and imaginative 
interpretations in romance, and however familiar 
with its aspects he may have become from repli- 
cas in art museums, and from pictures, one can 
yet hardly approach this silent, phantom city 
without being thrilled by its deep significance. 
At a distance of a few miles over the gently 
undulating plain rises Vesuvius; one gazes on 
the paths where the rivers of molten fire must 
have rolled down. George S. Hillard, visiting 
Pompeii in 1853, thus described a house which 
the visitors of to-day study and admire : — 

"The finest house we saw within the walls 
is one which had been discovered and laid bare 
about four months previous to the date of our 
visit, called the house of the Suonatrice, from a 
painting of a female playing on a pipe, at the 
entrance. This house was deemed of such 
peculiar interest that it was under the charge 



of a special custode, and was only to be seen on 
payment of an extra fee. It was not of large 
size, but had evidently been occupied by a per- 
son of ample fortune and exquisite taste. The 
paintings on the walls were numerous, and in 
the most perfect preservation. In the rear was 
a minute garden not more than twenty or thirty 
feet square, with a fairy fountain in the centre; 
around which were several small statues of chil- 
dren and animals, of white marble, wrought 
with considerable skill. The whole thing had 
a very curious effect, like the tasteful baby- 
house of a grown-up child. Everything in this 
house was in the most wonderful preservation. 
The metal pipes which distributed the water, 
and the cocks by which it was let off, looked per- 
fectly suited for use. Nothing at Pompeii seemed 
so real as this house, and nowhere else were the 
embellishments so numerous and so costly. 

'* Pompeii, though a Roman city in its polit- 
ical relations, was everywhere strongly marked 
with the impress of the Greek mind. It stood 
on the northern edge of that part of Italy which, 
from the number of Grecian colonies it con- 
tained, was called Magna Graecia, — a region of 
enchanting beauty, in which the genius of 



Greece attained its most luxurious development. 
It has been conjectured that Pompeii had an 
unusually large proportion of men of property, 
who had been drawn there by the charms of its 
situation and climate, and that it thus extended 
a liberal patronage to Greek architects, painters, 
and sculptors. At any rate, the spirit of Greece 
still lives and breathes in its ashes. Its temples, 
as restored by modem architects, are Greek. 
Its works in marble and bronze claim a place 
in that cyclus of art of which the metopes of 
the Parthenon are the highest point of excel- 
lence. The pictures that embellish the walls, 
the unzoned nymphs, the bounding Bacchantes, 
the grotesque Fauns, the playful arabesques, 
all are informed with the airy and creative spirit 
of Greek art. 

"The ruins of Pompeii are not merely an 
open-air museum of curiosities, but they have 
great value in the illustration they oflfer to Ro- 
man history and Roman literature. The anti- 
quarian of our times studies the great realm of 
the past with incomparable advantage, by the 
help of the torch here lighted.*' 

From Pompeii to Castellammare, the beauti- 



ful seaside summer resort of the Neapolitans, 
''a lover of nature could hardly find a spot of 
more varied attractions. Before him spreads 
the unrivalled bay, — dotted with sails and un- 
folding a broad canvas, on which the most 
glowing colors and the most vivid lights are 
dashed, — a mirror in which the crimson and 
gold of morning, the blue of noon, and the 
orange and yellow-green of sunset behold a 
livelier image of themselves, — a gentle and 
tideless sea, whose waves break upon the 
shore like caresses, and never like angry blows. 
Should he ever become weary of waves and 
languish for woods, he has only to turn his 
back upon the sea and climb the hills for an 
hour or two, and he will find himself in the 
depth of sylvan and mountain solitudes, — in 
a region of vines, running streams, deep-shad- 
owed valleys, and broad-armed oaks, — where 
he will hear the ringdove coo, and see the sen- 
sitive hare dart across the forest aisles. A 
great city is within an hour's reach; and the 
shadow of Vesuvius hangs over the landscape, 
keeping the imagination awake by touches of 
mystery and terror." 
The road to Sorrento, on a cli£f a hundred 



feet or more above the sea, with mountains on 
the other side, towering up hundreds of feet 
high; a road cut in many places out of the 
solid rock, supported by galleries and viaducts 
from below, — a road that crosses deep gorges 
and chasms, always with the iridescent colors 
of the sea below, — and from Sorrento to 
Amalfi again, only, if possible, even more won- 
derful, — is there in the world any drive that 
can rival this picturesque and sublime route? 
Of it Greorge EUot wrote : — 

'*It is an unspeakably grand drive round the 
mighty rocks with the sea below; and Amalfi 
itself surpasses all imagination of a romantic 
site for a city that once made itself famous 
in the world." 

Sorrento, with its memories and associations 
of Tasso, seems a place in which one cares 
only to sit on the balcony of the hotel over- 
hanging the sea and watch the magic spectacle 
of a panorama unrivalled in all the J>eauty of the 
world. Flowers grow in riotous profusion; the 
fairy sail of a flitting boat is caught in the deepen- 
ing dusk; the dark outline of Vesuvius is s^n 


against the horizon; and orange orchards gleam 
against gray walls. Here Tasso was bom, in 
1544, fit haunt for a poet, with tangles of gay 
blossoms and the aerial line of mountain peaks. 
A low parapet borders the precipice, and over it 
one leans in the air heavy with perfume of 
locust blossoms. Has the lovely town anything 
beside sunsets and stars and poets' dreams? 
Who could ask for more ? 

To La Cava, — to Amalfi, — still all a dream 
world ! 

'*0 summer day, beside the joyous seal 
O summer day so wonderful and white. 
So full of gladness and so full of pain! " 

How Amalfi sets itself to song and music! 
Who can enter it without hearing in the air 
Longfellow's beautiful lines ? — 

"Sweet the memoiy is to me 
Of a land b^ond the sea, 
Where the waves and mountains meet» 
Where, amid her mulberry- trees* 
Sits Amalfi in the heat. 
Bathing ever her white feet 
In the tideless summer seas. 

• • • • 

T is a stairway, not a street. 
That ascends the deep ravine^ 



Where the torrent leaps between 
Rocky walls that ahnost meet 

• • • • 

This is an enchanted land! 
Round the headlands, far awaj. 
Sweeps the blue Salemian baj 
With its sickle of white sand; 
Further still and furthermost 
On the dim discovered coast, 
Pestum with its ruins lies. 
And its roses all in bloom." 

If ever a region was dropped out of para- 
dise designed, solely, for a poet's day-dreams, 
it is Amalfi, and the even more beautiful Ravello 
just above. One fancies that it must have been 
in the mystic loveliness of this eyrie that the 
poet lost himself in a day-dream while Jupiter 
was dividing all the goods of the world. When 
he reproached the god for not saving a portion 
for him, Jupiter replied that all the goods were 
gone, it was true, but that his heaven was always 
open to the poet. 

The ancient Amalfi, the city of activities and 
merchandise, is gone. 

"Where are now the freighted barks 
From the marts of east and west? 
Where the knights in iron sarks 



Journeying to the Holy Lead, 
Glove of steel upon the hand. 
Cross of crimson on the breast? 
Where the pomp of camp and court ? 
Where the pilgrims vdth their prayers? 
Where the merchants with their wares? 

Vanished like a fleet of cloud, 
Like a passing trumpet-blast. 
Are those splendors of the past, 
And the commerce and the crowdl 
Fathoms deep beneath the seas 
Lie the ancient warves and quays. 
Swallowed by the engulfing waves. 


It is impossible to realize that Amalfi was 
once a flourishing city of Oriental trade. One 
looks in vain for any trace of ruin or shrine that 
still suggests the ancient splendors of activity. 
The strata of the past, so visible in other medise- 
val cities, are not apparent here. The great 
cathedral is a most interesting study in the art 
of architecture, — its exquisite arcades, its deli- 
cate, lofty campanile glittering in the sun. The 
green-roofed cupola is a distinctive feature, 
and up the many flights of stairs the old Capuc- 
cini convent lies, — the unique, romantic hotel 
where the cells of the monks are now the rooms 
of the perpetual procession of guests. Does 



the wraith of Cardinal Capuano, who founded 
this convent, still wander in midnight hours 
through the dim cloisters? Does he still keep 
watch by the body of St. Andrew, the apostle, 
which he is said to have found and brought to 
the cathedral where the saint Ues, as a saint 
should lie, gloriously entombed. St. Andrew 
was the patron saint of Amalfi, but at his death 
his body was carried from Patras to the Bos- 
phorus, where it was placed in a church in 
Constantinople. The legend runs that Cardi- 
nal Capuano, being in Constantinople, entered 
the Church of the Holy Apostles to pray, and 
knowing that the body of the saint was in that 
city, he besought the heavenly powers to guide 
him to it. Rising from his devotions he was 
approached by an aged priest, who announced 
to the Cardinal that the object of his search was 
in that very church in which he was praying 
for guidance; and, aided by unseen powers, he 
was able to recover it and convey it to Amalfi. 
All Italian towns that respect themselves offer 
the allurement of an entombed saint and if, 
occasionally, the same identical saint does duty 
for more than one city, who is to decide the 
local genuineness of the claim ? Nothing in 



all Italy is so curious as is this town of stair- 
cases instead of streets; of houses perched on 
the angles of impossible eyries suggesting that, 
as the Venetians go about in gondolas, so the 
Amalfians must have airships, or the wings of 
Icarus, with which to circle in air from their 
dwellings to the beach. 

The precipitous gorges and dark ravines have 
on their crests low parapets of stone walls over 
which the visitor lingers and leans watching the 
bluest of seas lying fair under the bluest of skies. 
The main road, — there is only one, — descend- 
ing from the hill to the water's edge, makes its 
progress through a tunnel. 

The old Amalfi, with its palaces, its arches 
and colonnades, lies under the sea. Just as the 
Pensione Caterina with its rose walks and ter- 
races slipped into the sea in December of 1899, 
when two guests and several fishermen lost 
their lives, so the ancient Amalfi fell, its cliffs 
swallowed up in the waters below. 


Hidden from all mortal eyes. 
Deep the sunken city lies; 
Silent streets and vacant halls. 
Ruined roofs and towers and walls; 
Even cities have their gravesl " 



When, on a May evening, the white moon- 
light falls in cascades of silver sheen over ter- 
races and sea, with Amalfi all alabaster and 
pearl like a dream city in the ethereal air; 
when the stars hang low in the skies and the 
fairy lights of the fishermen's boats twinkle far 
out at sea; when the sunmier silence is sud- 
denly thrilled by the melody of Neapolitan 
songs on the air, as if it were a veritable chcmt 
d* amour of sirens, — then does one believe in 
the buried city. These rich baritone voices are 
surely those of some singers of the buried ages. 
They are floating across the centuries since 
Amalfi had its pride and place among the great 
centres of activity. Atrani, Amalfi's twin city, 
lies in the adjoining defile of the mountains 
which arch above them. The strange old 
houses are all dazzlingly white, transfigured 
under the moon to an unearthly loveliness. 

The tragedy of the ruin of Amalfi is related by 
Petrarca, who was then living in Naples. It was 
in 1348 that a terrible cataclysm — an earthquake 
accompanied by a tempest — caused the destruc- 
tion and the submergence of the city in the sea. 

The believers in astrology will find their 
faith re-enforced by the fact that a bishop, who 



was also an astrologist, had read in the stars 
that in December of 1S43 a terrible disaster 
would occur on the Naples coast. It arrived 
on schedule time. Petrarca, writing of it to 
Giovanni Colonna, states that in consequence 
of the prediction of the bishop, the people were 
in a condition of wild terror, endeavoring to 
repent of their sins and aspiring to a purer 
moral life. In this tide of religious emotion, 
ordinary occupations were neglected. On the 
very day of the calamity people were crowding 
the churches and kneeling in prayer. At night, 
after the people were in bed, the shock came. 
The sunset had been fair, the evening quiet, 
and the people were reassured. But they were 
awakened from sleep by the violence of falling 
walls and the terror of the tempest. Petrarca 
was lodging in a convent, and he heard the 
monks calling to one another as they rushed 
from cell to cell. They hastily gathered crosses 
and sacred relics in their hands, and, preceded 
by the prior, sought the chapel, where they passed 
the night in prayer while the tempest raged 
outside. The sea broke against the rocks with 
a fury that seemed to tear the very foundations 
of the earth. The thunder pealed, and mingled 



with it were the shrieks of the frightened popu- 
lace. The rain fell in torrents, deluging the city 
as if the sea itself were pouring on it. When 
the morning came the darkness still continued. 
In the harbor broken ships crashed helplessly to- 
gether. The sands were strewn with mutilated 
dead bodies. Between Capri and the shore the 
sea ran mountains high. Amalfi was completely 
destroyed, and has never regained her prestige. 

The cathedral at Ravello has traces of the 
rich art it once enshrined, and the rose gardens 
of the Palazzo Rufelo might enchant Hafiz him- 
self. The terrace on the very crest of the moun- 
tain commands one of the wonderful views of the 
world. The cloistered colonnades of this old 
Saracenic palace reveal views even to the plains 
of Psestum. There are rare mosaics and frag- 
ments of bronzes and marbles yet remaining. 

The noble Greek ruins at Psestum — the three 
temples — stand in all the majesty of utter deso- 
lation. They are overgrown with flowers, how- 
ever, and they stand "dewy in the light of the 
rising dawn-star." 

'*The shrine is ruined now, and far awaj 
To east and west stretch olive groves, whose ihade. 
Even at the height of summer noon, is graj. 



''Yet this was once a hero's temple, erowned 
With myrtle boughs by lovers, and with palm 
By wrestlers, resonant Ynih sweetest sound 
Of flute and fife in summer evening's calm. 
And odorous with incense all the year. 
With nard and spice and galbanum and balm.'* 

The detour to Psestum is full of significance. 
The massive columns of the temples stand like 
giants of the ages. "It is difficult," writes John 
Addington Symonds, ''not to return again and 
again to the beauty of coloring at Psestum. 
Lying basking in the sun on a flat slab of stone, 
and gazing eastward, we overlook a foreground 
of dappled light and shadow; then come two 
stationary colunms built, it seems, of solid gold, 
where the sunbeams strike along their russet 
surface. Between them lies the landscape, a 
medley first of brakefem and asphodel and 
feathering acanthus and blue spikes; while be- 
yond and above is a glimpse of mountains, 
purple almost to indigo with cloud shadows, 
and fiecked with snow." 

The sail from Amalfi to Psestum is one in- 
comparable in loveliness. The sunshine is all 
lurid gold. The faint, transparent blue haze 
fills all the defiles of the mountains; the cliffs 



disclose yawning caverns where vast clusters of 
stalactites hang; and as the boat floats to^vard 
Capri from the Sorrento promontory its rocky 
headlands rise and flame into purple and rose 
against the glowing sky. Across the Bay of 
Naples rises the great city. It stands in some 
subtle way reminding one of the scene where one 

• . . rowing hard against the stream. 
Saw distant gates of Eden gleam." 

Capri is the idyllic island of prismatic light 
and shade, of gay and joyous life. Here Tiberius 
had his summer palace, and it was from these 
shores that he sent the historic letter which 
revolutionized the life of Sejanus. The letter — 
verbosa et grandis epistola — is still vivid in 
the historic associations of Rome. Capri is one 
of the favorite resorts both for winter and 
summer. Its former modest prices are now 
greatly increased, like all the latter-day ex- 
penses of Italy; but its beauty is perennial, 
and the artist and poet can still command 
there a seclusion almost impossible to secure 
elsewhere in Italy. The distinguished artist, 
Elihu Vedder of Rome, has a country house on 
Capri, and another well-known artist, Charles 


Caryl Coleman, makes this island his home. 
There are days — sometimes several days in 
succession — that the sea is high and the boats 
cannot run between Naples, Sorrento, and Capri; 
and the enforced seclusion is still the seclusion 
of the poet's dream. For he shares it with 
Mithras, the " unconquered god of the sun," 
whose cult influenced all the monarchs of 
Europe and who holds his court in the Grotto 
de Matrimonia. Into this grotto one descends 
by a flight of nearly two hundred feet ; he strolls 
among the ruins of the villa of Tiberius, where 
the very air is still vital and vocal with those 
strange and tragic chapters of Roman life. 
The Emperor Augustus first founded here pal- 
aces and aqueducts. Tiberius, who retired 
to Capri in the year 27 A.D., had his architects 
build twelve villas, in honor of the gods, the 
largest of these being for Jupiter and known as 
the Villa Jovis. In 31 A.D. occurred that 
dramatic episode in Roman history, the fall of 
Sejanus, and six years later Tiberius died. The 
vast white marble baths he had built for him 
are now submerged on the coast, and boats glide 
over the spot where they stood. The Villa 
Jovis stood on a cliff seven hundred feet above 



the sea, and the traditions of the barbarities and 
atrocities that took place there still haunt the 
island. The natives apparently regard them as 
a certain title to fame, but the wise tourists 
persistently ignore horrors ; life is made for joy, 
sweetness, and charm; it is far wiser to think 
on these things. 

And there is charm and joy to spare on 
lovely Capri. "Sea-mists are frequent in the 
early summer mornings, swathing the cliffs of 
Capri and brooding on the smooth water till the 
day wind rises,'* says John Addington Symonds. 
"Then they disappear like magic, rolling in 
smoke-wreaths from the surface of the sea, 
condensing into clouds and climbing the hills 
like Oceanides in quest of Prometheus, or 
taking their station on the watch towers of the 
world as in the chorus of the Nephelai. Such 
a morning may be chosen for the giro of the 
island. The Blue Grotto loses nothing of its 
beauty, but rather gains by contrast, when 
passing from dense fog you find yourself trans- 
ported to a world of wavering subaqueous 
sheen. It is only through the very topmost 
arch that a boat can glide into this cavern; 
the arch itself spreads downward through the 



water so that all the light is transmitted from 
beneath and colored by the sea. Outside the 
magic world of pantomime there is nothing to 
equal these effects of blue and silver. . • • 
Numberless are the caves at Capri. The so- 
called Green Grotto has the beauty of moss 
agate in its liquid floor; the Red Grotto shows 
a warmer chord of color; and where there is 
no other charm to notice, endless beauty may 
be found in the play of sunlight upon roofs 
of limestone, tinted with yellow, orange, and 
pale pink, mossed over, hung with fern, and 
catching tones of blue or green from the still 
deeps beneath. . . . After a day upon the 
water it is pleasant to rest at sunset in the 
loggia above the sea. The Bay of Naples 
stretches far and wide in front, beautiful by 
reason of the long fine line descending from 
Vesuvius, dipping almost to a level, and then 
gliding up to join the highlands of the north. 
Now sun and moon begin to mingle: waning 
and waxing splendors. The cliffs above our 
heads are still blushing like the heart of some 
tea-rose; when lo, the touch of the huntress 
is laid upon those eastern pinnacles, and the 
horizon glinmiers with her rising. Was it on 



such a night that Ferdinand of Aragon fled 
from his capital before the French, with eyes 
turned ever to the land he loved, chanting, 
as he leaned from his galley's stem, that mel- 
ancholy psalm, 'Except the Lord keep the city, 
the watchman waketh but in vain,' and see- 
ing Naples dwindle to a white blot on the purple 

The roses of Capri would form a chapter 
alone. What walks there are where the air 
is all fragrance of acacia and rose and orange 
blossoms! Cascades of roses in riotous luxuri- 
ance festoon the old gray stone walls; the pale 
pink of the early dawn or of a shell by the sea- 
shore, the amber of the Banskeia rose, the 
great golden masses of the Mar^chal Niel, 
their faint yellow gleaming against the deep 
green leaves of myrtle and frond. The intense 
glowing scarlet of the gladiolus flames from 
rocks and roadside, and rosemary and the pur- 
ple stars of hyacinths garland the ways, until 
one feels like journeying only in his singing 
robes. The deep, solemn green of stone pines 
forms canopies under the sapphire skies, and 
through their trunks one gazes on the sapphire 
sea. Is Capri the isle of Epipsychidion ? 


"Is there now anj one that knows 
What a world of mjsteiy lies deep down in the heart of a rose ? " 

One walks among these rose-lined lanes, 
hearing in the very air that exquisite lyric by 
Louise Chandler Moulton : — 

"Roses that briefly Eve, 

Joy is your dower; 
Blest be the Fates that give 

One perfect hour. 
And» though too soon you die» 

In your dust g^ows 
Something the passer-by 

Knows was a Rose.'* 

Monte Cassino is one of the most interesting 
inland points in Southern Italy, — the monas- 
tery lying on the crest of a hill nearly two 
thousand feet above the sea. Dante alludes 
to this in his Paradiso (XXII, XXXVII), and 
in the prose translation made by that emi- 
nent Dantean scholar. Professor Charles Eliot 
Norton, this assurance of Beatrice to Dante is 
thus rendered ; — 

'^That mountain on whose slope Cassino is, 
was of old frequented on its summit by the 
deluded and ill-disposed people, and I am he 



who first carried up thither the name of Him 
who brought to earth the truth which so high 
exalts us; and such grace shone upon me that 
I drew away the surrounding villages from the 
impious worship which seduced the world. 
Those other fires were all contemplative men, 
kindled by that heat which brings to birth holy 
flowers and fruits. Here is Macarius, here is 
Romuald, here are my brothers, who within the 
cloisters fixed their feet, and held a steadfast 
heart. And I to him, *The affection which 
thou displayest in speaking with me, and the 
good semblance which I see and note in all 
your ardors, have so expanded my confidence 
as the sun does the rose, when she becomes 
open so much as she has power to be. There- 
fore I pray thee, and do thou, father, assure me 
if I have power to receive so much grace, 
that I may see thee with uncovered shape.* 
Whereon he, * Brother, thy high desire shall be 
fulfilled in the last sphere, where are fulfilled 
all others and my own. There perfect, mature, 
and whole is every desire; in that alone is every 
part there where it always was: for it is not in 
space, and hath not poles; and our stairway 
reaches up to it, wherefore thus from thy sight 


it conceals itself. Far up as there the patri- 
arch Jacob saw it stretch its topmost part when 
it appeared to him so laden with Angels. But 
now no one lifts his feet from earth to ascend it ; 
and my rule is remaining as waste of paper. 
The walls, which used to be an abbey, have 
become caves; and the cowls are sacks full of 
bad meal. But heavy usury is not gathered in 
so greatly against the pleasure of God, as that 
fruit which makes the heart of monks so foolish. 
For whatsoever the Church guards is all for the 
folk that ask it in God's name, not for one's 
kindred, or for another more vile. The flesh 
of mortals is so soft that a good beginning 
suffices not below from the springing of the oak 
to the forming of the acorn. Peter began with- 
out gold and without silver, and I with prayers 
and with fasting, and Francis in humility his 
convent; and if thou lookest at the source of 
each, and then lookest again whither it has run, 
thou wilt see dark made of the white. Truly, 
Jordan turned back, and the sea fleeing when 
God willed, were more marvellous to behold 
than succor here.*" 

Pante adds that the company **like a whirl-* 


wind gathered itself upward," and that "the 
sweet lady urged me behind them, with only 
a sign, up over that stairway; so did her virtue 
overcome my nature. But never here below, 
where one mounts and descends naturally, 
was there motion so rapid that it could be 
compared unto my wing." 

The time was when Dante and Beatrice met, 
and he "was standing as one who within himself 
represses the point of his desire, and attempts 
not to ask, he so fears the too-much." And 
then he heard: "If thou couldst see, as I do, 
the charity which bums among us thy thoughts 
would be expressed. But that thou through 
waiting mayst not delay thy high end, I will 
make answer to thee, even to the thought con- 
cerning which thou art so regardful." 

The vast monastery of Monte Cassino, lying 
on the crest of a hill nearly two thousand feet 
above the sea, has one of the most magnificent 
locations in all Italy. This monastery was 
founded (in 529 A.D.) by St. Benedict, on the 
site of an ancient temple to Apollo. Dante al- 
ludes to this also in the Paradiso (Canto XX, 11). 
As seen from below this monastery has the 
appearance of a vast castle, or fortress. Its 



location is one of the most magnificent in all 
Italy. The old entrance was a curious passage 
cut through solid rock and it is still used for 
princes and cardinals — no lesser dignitaries be* 
ing allowed to pass through it — and within 
the past thirty years a new entrance has been 
constructed. In the passageway of the mediae- 
val entrance St. Benedict is said to have had his 
cell, and of recent years the German Benedic- 
tines, believing they had located the original cell, 
had it located, restored, and decorated with 
Egyptian frescoes. Several of the courts of this 
convent are connected by beautiful arcades with 
lofty arches, and adorned with statues, among 
which are those of St. Benedict and his sister, 
St. Scholastica. Still farther up the hill, upon 
the monastery, stands the church which is built 
on the site of the ancient one that was erected 
by St, Benedict himself — this present edifice 
dating back to 16S7. Above the portals there 
is a long inscription in Latin relating the history 
of the monastery and the church. These por- 
tals are solid bronze, beautifully carved, with 
inlaid tablets of silver on which are inscribed a 
list of all the treasures of the abbey in the year 
1006. The church is very rich in interior deco- 



ration of mosaics, rare marbles, and wonderful 
monumental memorials. Either side of the 
high altar are monuments to the Prince of 
Mignano (Ginodone Trieramosca) and also to 
Piero de Medico. Both St. Benedict and his 
sister, St. Scholastica, are entombed under the 
high altar, which is one of the most elaborately 
sculptured in all the churches of Italy. 

Among the pictorial decorations of this church 
are a series of fresco paintings by Luca Gindano, 
painted in the seventeenth century, representing 
the miracles wrought by St. Benedict. In the 
refectory is the "Miracle of the Loaves," by 
Bassano; and in the chapel below are paintings 
by Mazzarappi and Marco da Siena. Nothing 
can exceed the richness and beauty of the carv- 
ings of the choir stalls. These were executed 
in the seventeenth century by Coliccio. 

The library of this monastery is renowned 
all over Europe — indeed, it is famous all over 
the world — for its preservation of ancient 
manuscripts done by the monks. These are 
carefully treasured in the archives. Among 
them is the record of a vision that came to the 
monk Alferic, in the twelfth century, on which 
it is believed that Dante founded his inunortal 


"DivinaCommedia;" there is also a fourteenth- 
century edition of Dante with margined notes; 
and the Commentary of Origen (on the Epistle 
to the Romans) ) dating back to the sixteenth 
century; there is the complete series of Papal 
bulls that were sent to the monastery of Monte 
Cassino from the eleventh century to the 
present time, many of them being richly illumi- 
nated and decorated with curiously elaborate 
seals. There is an autograph letter of the Sul- 
tan Mohammed II to Pope Nicholas IV, with 
the Pope's reply, — the theme of the corre- 
spondence being the Pope's threat of war. The 
imperial Mohammed seems to have been in 
terror of this, and in his epistle he expresses 
his willingness, and, indeed, his intention, to 
be converted as soon as he shall visit Rome! 
Apparently the Holy Father of that day laid 
little stress on the sincerity of this oJBFer on the 
part of the Sultan. Here, too, is a wonderful 
correspondence between Don Erasmo Gattola, 
the historian of the abbey, and a great number 
of the celebrated men of his time; and there 
are hundreds of other letters, manuscripts, and 
documents relating to kings, nobles, emperors, 
and many of the nobility of the age. 



In this monastery there is a most interesting 
collection of relics, in bronze, silver, gold, and 
rosso antico. The library proper contains some 
eleven thousand volumes, dating back to the 
very dawn of the discovery of the art of printing. 

Mr. Longfellow, whose poet's pen has pic- 
tured so many of the Italian landscapes and 
ancient monuments, thus set Monte Cassino 
to music, picturing the entire landscape of the 
Terre di Lavomo region: — 

"The Land of Labor and the Land of Rest, 
Where mediseval towns are white on all 
The hillsides, and where every mountain's ciest 
Is an Etrurian or a Roman wall. 

"There is Aquinum, the old Volscian town. 
Where Juvenal was bom, whose lurid light 
Still hovers o'er his birthplace like the crown 
Of splendor seen o'er cities in the night. 

"Doubled the splendor is, that in its streets 
The Angelic Doctor as a school-boj played. 
And dreamed perhaps the dreams that he repeats 
In ponderous folios for scholastics made. 

"And there, uplifted, like a passing doud 
That pauses on a mountain summit high, 
Monte Cassino's convent rears its proud 
And venerable walls against the sky. 



''Well I remember how on foot I climbed 
The stony pathway leading to its gate; 
Above, the convent beUs for vespers chimed. 
Below, the darkening town grew desolate. 



The silence of the place was like a sleep. 
So full of rest it -seemed; each passing tread 

Was a reverberation from the deep 
Recesses of the ages that are dead* 

For, more than thirteen centuries ago, 
Benedict fleeing from the gates of Rome, 

A youth disgusted with its vice and woe. 
Sought in these mountain solitudes a home. 

''He founded here his Convent and his Rule 

Of prayer and work, and counted work as prayer; 
The pen became a clarion, and his school 
Flamed like a beacon in the midnight air. 


From the high window, I beheld the scene 
On which Saint Benedict so oft had gazed, — 

The mountains and the valley in the sheen 
Of the bright sun, — and stood as one amazed. 

"The conflict of the Present and the Past, 
The ideal and the actual in our life. 

As on a field of battle held me fast. 
Where this world and the next world were at strife.** 



The monasteTy of Monte Cassino entertains^ 
as its guests, for dinner or for a night, all 
gentlemen who visit it; but there is an alms 
box on the ancient gate into which the guest 
is supposed to place whatever contribution he 
pleases for the poor of the place. The Italian 
government, in 1866, declared this monastery 
to be a "Monumento Nazionali,*' and it is now 
a famous ecclesiastical school with some two 
hundred students and a resplendent faculty of 
fifty learned monks under the direction of the 
Abbot. Some of the most celebrated prelates 
in Europe have been educated at Monte Cassino. 

Quite near Monte Cassino, as Longfellow 
depicts in his lines, is Monte Aquino, a pictur- 
esque hillside where the "Doctor Angelicus/' 
Thomas Aquinas, was bom (in 1224), the 
son of Count Landulf, in the Castel Rocca- 
secca. He was educated in the monastery, and 
one finds himself recaUing here these lines of 
Thomas William Parsons, entitled "Turning 
from Darwin to Thomas Aquinas : " — 

'^Unless in thought with thee I often liTe» 
Angelic doctor! life seems poor to me. 
What are these bounties, if they only be 
Such boon as fanners to their servants give? 



That I am fed, and that mine oxen thriva* 

That my lambs fatten, that mine hours are free — 

These ask my nightly thanks on bended knee; 

And I do thank Him who hath blest my hive. 

And made content my herd, my flock, my bee. 

But, Father! nobler things I ask from Thee. 

Fishes have sunshine, worms have everything! 

Are we but apes ? Oh! give me, God, to know 

I am death's master; not a scaffolding. 

But a true temple where Christ's word could grow.** 

It was at Aqulnum, too, at the foot of Monte 
Aquino, Juvenal was bom. Near the peaks of 
Monte Cassino and Monte Aquino is that of 
Monte Cairo, five thousand five hujidred feet 
high, from whose summit one of the finest 
views of all southern Europe is attained. The 
Gulf of Gaeta, the valley of San Germano, the 
wild and romantic mountain region of the 
Abruzzi and a view, too, of the blue sea are in 
the panorama, bathed in the opalescent, gleam- 
ing lights that often invest the Italian land« 
scape with jewelled splendor. 

*'I ask myself. Is this a dream? 
Will it all vanish into air? 
Is there a land of such supreme 
And perfect beauty, anywhere?*' 



It might have been in this pictured dream- 
region that Hercules came to rest. 


When Heracles, the twelve great labors done. 

To Calpe came, and there his jour^j stajed* 
He raised two pillars toward the evening sun. 
And carved them bj a goddess' subtle aid. 
Upon their shafts were sacred legends traced, 
And round the twain a serpent cincture placed: 
T was at this bound the primal world stood still. 
And of Atlantis dreamed, with baffled will/* 

But still in unmeasured space, still beyond 
and afar and unattained, still lost in the un- 
penetrated realms of the poet's fancy, — 


Atlantis lies beyond the pillars jetl** 


^Here Ischia smiles 
O'er liquid miles.'* 

High o*er the seorsurge vend the sands. 
Like a great galleon wrecked and cast 

Ashore by storms^ thy Castle stands 
A moiddering landmark of the PasL 

Upon its terrace-walk, I see 
A phantom gliding to and fro; 

It is Colonna, — it is she 
Who lived and loved so long ago, 


We are tke only two lAof, face to face^ 
Do know eaek oUier^ as God daUi know u» hoik. 
— O feadeu friendekip, ikat kM natkmg ha/tkl 
O abtotuU tnui^ ikat yielded every key. 
And fung eack emiam up, and drew we on 
To enter ike wkUe temple of tky jont 
So vast, so cold, so waste ! — and yite tkee 
Of Hving warmtk, of tkrMing tenderness. 
Of soft dependencies I O faitk tkei made 
Tkee free to seek tke spot wkere my dead kopes 
Have sepmltwre, and read above tke crypt 
Deep graven, tke tearfnl legend of wty Hfe I 
Tkere, gloomed witk tke w^ewsorieds of my past, 
Tkou ones for aU didst learn wkei wum accepts 
Latkly — {kow skould ke etsef) — tkat never 

Ever twice loved. 

''FttHorMi Cobmna to Mickael Angeto^ 





Unto my buried lord I give myself/ 

ABchael Angeiol 
A man that all men honor, and the model 
That all should foUow; one who works and prays. 
For work is prayer, and consecrates his life 
To the sublime ideal of his art 
Till art and life are one. 

Longfellow, from "Midiad Angdo; A Fragment." 

In that poetic sail along the Italian coast 
between Naples and Grenoa the voyager feels 
that it is 


On no earthly gea with transient roar' 

that his bark is floating; that 

"Unto no earthly airs he trims his sail,** 

as he flits along this coast when violet waves 
dash against a brilliant background of sky. 
Ischia reveals herself through the blue, trans- 



parent air, gleaming with opalescent lights, 
quivering, fading and flaming again as the after- 
glow in the east rivals in its coloring the sunset 
splendors of the west. Is there in the air a 
faint, lingering echo of the chant d^amour of 
sirens on the rocky shores ? Is Parthenope still 
to be descried? Gazing upon Ischia there is 
a rush of romantic impressions as if one were 
transported into ideal regions of song, before 
this impression begins to resolve itself into defi- 
nite remembrance of fact and incident. Surely 
some exquisite associations in the past had en- 
chanted this island in memoiy and invested it 
with the magic light that never was on sea or 
land. Traditions of beauty; of the lives of 
scholar and savant and princes of the church; 
of a court of nobility enriched and adorned by 
prelate and by poet ; traditions, too, of a woman's 
consecration to an immortal love and the solace 
of grief by poetic genius and exalted friend- 
ships, — all these seem to cling about Ischia in a 
vague, atmospheric way till memoiy, still grop- 
ing backward in the twilight of the richly his- 
toric past, suddenly crystallized into recognition 
that it was Ischia which was the home of Vittoria 
Colonna, the greatest woman poet of the Italian 

1 1 


Renaissance. Lines, long since read, arose like 
an incantation; and like bars of music, each 
note of which vibrated in the air, came this 
fragment of one of her songs : — 

"n in these rude and artless songs of mine 
I never take the file in hand, nor try 
With curious care and nice, fastidious eye 
To deck and polish each uncultured line, 
T is that it makes small merit of my name 
To merit praise. . . • 

But it must be that heaven's own gracious gift 
Which, with its breath, divine, inspires my soid. 
Strikes forth these sparks unbidden by my will." 

Vittoria Golonna was called the most beautiful 
and gifted woman of her time in all Italy. Her 
life of nearly sixty years (1490-1647) lay entirely 
in that period when the apathy of ten centuries 
was broken, when the darkness fled before 
the dawning of a glorious day. New methods 
of thought, revised taste in poetry, new dis- 
coveries of science, a nobler progress in criticism, 
great discoveries, and a lofty and unprecedented 
freedom of conviction marked the century 
between 1450 and 1550, stamping it as the 



marvellous time which we know as the Renais- 
sance, "that solemn fifteenth century which 
can hardly be studied too much, not merely for 
its positive results in the things of the intellect 
and the imagination, its concrete works of art, 
its special and prominent personalities, with their 
profound aesthetic charm, but for its general 
spirit and character, for the ethical qualities of 
which it is a consummate type/' 

It was peculiarly fitting that Italy should take 
the initiative in inaugurating this vita nvova. 
Italy had a language and literature and art. 
Dante had delivered his solemn message and 
Petrarca his impassioned song. Boccaccio had 
taught the gospel of gladness. Who shall 
analyze the secret springs of their inspiration 
and reveal to what degree Ovid and Horace and 
Virgil influenced the later literature? A new 
solar system was established by Copernicus. 
America was discovered. Science entered on 
her definite and ceaseless progress, and religion 
and art became significant forces in human life. 
Printing had been invented and the compass 

Into this time of new forces, when everything 
was throbbing and pulsating with life, was 




Vittoria Colonna bom into social prestige and 
splendor. Her father, Fabrizio Colonna, and 
her mother, Agnesina di Montefeltro, a dati^ter 
of the Duke of Urbino, were then domiciled in 
the castle of Marino, on the Lago d'Albano, 
a magnificent palace some twelve miles from 
Rome, in which the Duke d' Amalfi (the father 
of Fabrizio Colonna) lived, and which is still 
standing, filled with memorials and relics of 
historic interest. Urbino, the seat of the Monte- 
feltro, is renowned as having been the birth- 
place of Raphael, who 

''Only drank the precious wine of youth/' 

but who 

*\ . • lives immortal in the hearts of men, 
. . . and the world is fairer 
lliat he lived in it." 

The Colonna date back to the eleventh 
century, and they gave many princes and cardi- 
nals to the country. At the close of the thir- 
teenth centuiy they were arrayed against Boni- 
face Vlll, the Pope, who accused them of cripie, 
while they disputed the validity of his elec- 
tion to the holy office. In retaliation, the Pope 

t85 "" 


excommunicated the entire family, anathema- 
tized them as heretics and declared their estates 
forfeited to the church. The Colonna, far 
from being intimidated, commanded three hun- 
dred armed horsemen, attacked the papal 
palace, which they plundered, and made him a 
prisoner, — an incident referred to by Dante 
in the "Inferno.** The Colonna and the Orsino 
were also at warfare, and when . a member of 
the former family was elevated to the papacy 
under the name of Martin V, they despoiled 
property of the Orsini. 

Gay excursionists to-day, who fly over the 
Campagna in their twentieth-century touring 
cars to the lovely towns of the Alban hills, may 
look down from Castel Gondolfo on the gloomy, 
mediseval little town of Marino, part way up 
a steep hillside, whose summit is crowned by 
the castle once belonging to the Colonna and 
in which Yittoria passed her early childhood. 
"Nothing," in his "Roba di Roma,'* says Story, 
"can be more rich and varied than this magnifi- 
cent amphitheatre of the Campagna of Rome, 
• . . sometimes drear, mysterious, and melan- 
choly in desolate stretches; sometimes rolling 
like an inland sea whose waves have suddenly 



become green with grass, golden with grain, and 
gracious with myriads of wild flowers, where 
scarlet poppies blaze and pink daisies cover 
vast meadows and vines shroud the picturesque 
ruins of antique villas, aqueducts, and tombs, 
or drop from mediaeval towers and fortresses/' 
Flying in the swift motor-car of the time 
toward the Alban hills, Marino may be easily 
reached in less than an hour from the Porta 
San Giovanni, and in the near distance Monte 
Albani, rising into the cone of Monte Cavi, 
is a picture before the eye, while on the lower 
slopes gleam the white villages of Albani, 
Marino, Castel Gondolfo, and Frascati, with 
the campanile of a cathedral, a fortress-like 
ruin, or gardens and olive orchards clambering 
up the heights. The Papal town of Rocca di 
Papa crowns one summit where once Tarquin's 
temple to Jupiter stood and on whose ruins 
now gleam afar in the Italian simshine the 
white walls of the Passionist convent of Monte 
Cavi, built by Cardinal York. From this height 
Juno gazed upon the great conflict of contend- 
ing armies, if Virgil's topography be entitled 
to authority. And here, through a defile in 
the hills, one may look toward Naples, ^'and 



then rising abruptly with sheer limestone cliflFs 
and crevasses, where transparent purple shadows 
sleep all day long, towers the grand range of the 
Sabine mountains, whose lofty peaks surround 
the Campagna to the east and north like a 
curved amphitheatre. . . . Again, skirting the 
Pontine Marshes on the east, are the Volscian 
mountains, closing up the Campagna at Ter- 
racina, where they overhang the road and 
affront the sea with their great barrier. Fol- 
lowing along the Sabine hills, you will see at 
intervals the towns of Palestrina and Tivoli, 
where the Anio tumbles in foam, and other little 
mountain towns nestled here and there among 
the soft airy hollows, or perched on the cliffs." 

In this landscape there are three ruined 
villages — Colonna, Gallicano, and Zagarda — 
perched on their respective hills. The castle 
of the Colonna family is now restored and 
modernized to a degree that leaves little trace 
of that former stately grandeur which is trans- 
muted into modem convenience and comfort. 

In this scene of romantic beauty, with the 
vista of beauty almost incomparable in any 
inland view in Italy, Vittoria passed her infancy, 
until, at the age of four, her childhood was 



transplanted to faiiy Ischia. In all this chain 
of Alban towns, including Marino, Viterbo, Aric- 
cia, and Rocca di Papa, the great family of the 
Colonna owned extensive estates, each crown- 
ing some height, while the defiles between were 
filled, then as now, with the foam and blossom 
of riotous greenery. Then, as now, across the 
mystic Campagna, the dome of St. Peter's sil- 
houetted itself against a golden background of 
western sky. 

One needs not to have had privileged access 
to the sibylline leaves of the Cumsean sooth- 
sayer to recognize that Vittoria Colonna was 
bom under the star of destiny. Her horoscope 
seemed to be inextricably entwined with that of 
Italy; and the events which created and deter- 
mined the conditions of her life and its pano- 
ramic series of circumstances were the events 
of Italy and of Europe as well — in political 
aspects and in the influence on general progress, 
brought to bear by strong and prominent indi- 
vidualities whose gifts, genius, or force domi- 
nated the movements of the day. 

To her father's change of political allegiance, 
from the French to the Spanish side, in the 
war raging between those countries in 1494« 



Vittoria owed all her life in Ischia; and her 
marriage, and aU that resulted from her becom- 
ing a member of the d'Avalos family, was due 
to this espousal of a new political faith on the 
part of Fabrizio Colonna. To the fact that in 
1425 the war with France again broke out was 
due the loss of her husband and the conditions 
that consecrated her life to poetry, to learning, 
and that made possible the beautiful and sympa- 
thetic friendship between herself and Michael 
Angelo. Her life presents the most forcible 
illustration of the overruling power on human 
life and destiny. 

It was the political change of faith on the 
part of Fabrizio Colonna that initiated an un* 
foreseen and undreamed-of drama of life for his 
infant daughter, the first act of which included 
the command of the King of Naples that the 
little Vittoria should be betrothed to Francesco 
d'Avalos, the son of Alphonso, Marchese di 
Pescara, of Ischia, one of the nobles who stood 
nearest to the king in those troubled days. 
Francesco was bom in the castle on Ischia in 
1489, and was one year older than Vittoria. 
Fabrizio exchanged his castle at Marino for 
one in Naples, which city made him the Grand 


Constable. The d' Avalos castle in Ischia had 
at this time for its chatelaine the Duchessa di 
Francavilla, who is said by some authorities 
to have been the elder sister and by others to 
have been the aunt of Francesco. Donna Con- 
stanza d' Avalos, later the Duchessa di Fran- 
cavilla, had been made the Castellana of the 
island for her courage in refusing to capitulate 
to the French troops when, after the death of 
her father, she was left in sole charge of the 
d* Avalos estates, and Emperor Charles V ele- 
vated her rank to that of Principessa. The 
Duchessa was one of the most remarkable 
women of the day. She was a classical scholar, 
and herself a writer, the author of a book en- 
titled **Degli Infortuni e Travagli del Mondo.*' 
To the care of this learned and brilliant woman, 
a great lady in the social life of the time, the 
care of the little Vittoria was conmiitted, and 
she studied and played and grew up with 
Francesco, her future husband. The d* Avalos 
family ranked among the highest nobility of 
the Court of Naples, and the Principessa reigned 
as a queen of letters and society in her island 
kingdom. It was under her care that the two 
children, Francesco and Vittoria, pursued their 



studies together and acquired every grace of 
scholarship and accomplishment of society. The 
circles which the Duchessa drew around her 
included many gentlewomen from Sicily and 
from Naples; and '"the life at Castel d'Ischia 
was synonymous with everything glorious and 
elegant," recorded Visconti, "and its fame has 
been immortalized/' Although Francesco (the 
future Marchese di Pescara) was bom in Italian 
dominions, yet the d'Avalos family were of 
Spanish ancestry and traditions. The musical 
Castilian was the language of the household. 
The race ideals of Spain — the poetic, the im- 
passioned, the joy in color and movement — per- 
vaded the very atmosphere of Castel d'Ischia. 
Vittoria's earliest girlhood revealed her excep- 
tional beauty and charm, and gave evidence 
that the gods loved her and had dowered her 
with their immortal gifts and genius, which 
flowered, under the sympathetic guidance and 
stimulus of such a woman as the Principessa 
(the Duchessa di Francavilla) and the society 
she drew around her, as the orange and the 
myrtle flower under the southern sunshine. 

The literature of biography presents no chap- 
ter that can rival this in the idyllic beauty of 


the lives of those two children on the lovely 
island in the violet sea. The perpetual con- 
flicts that were waged in both Rome and Na- 
ples awakened no echoes in this romantic and 
isolated spot, whose atmosphere was that of 
the peace of scholarly pursuits and lofty thought 
that is found where the arts and the muses 
hold their sway. 

But in 1496 came the tragedy of the death 
of the young king and queen of Naples; four 
years later Rome celebrated a jubilee in which 
Naples took part, sending a splendid procession 
as escort to the famous Madonna that was 
carried from Naples to Rome and back, work- 
ing miracles, it is said, on both journeys, as a 
Madonna should. A year later Frederick of 
Naples and the queen, and two of the king's 
sisters, — ladies of high nobility, — came as 
guests to the castle in Ischia, — royal exiles 
seeking shelter. Five years later the new king 
and queen were welcomed with gorgeous parade 
and acclamation. A pier was thrown out over 
one hundred feet into the sea; on this a tent of 
gold was erected, and all the nobility of Naples, 
in the richest costumes of velvet and jewels, 
thronged to meet the royal guests. Over the 


sunlit Bay of Naples resounded the thunder of 
the guns in military salute and the cheers of 
the people. Among the distinguished nobility 
present, Costanza, Duchessa and Principessa 
di Francavilla, was a marked figure with her 
young charge, Vittoria Colonna, at her side. 
She made a deep reverence and kissed the hand 
of the king as he passed, as did many of the 
ladies of highest rank, and at the fete of that 
evening Vittoria's beauty charmed all eyes. 
Although it was well understood that she had 
been betrothed since childhood to Francesco 
d'Avalos, yet many princes and nobles sued 
for her hand and were refused by her father, 
who was at this time established magnificently 
in Naples. Pope Julius II refused the plead- 
ings of two dukes, both of whom wished to seek 
Vittoria in marriage, as he considered the love 
of the young girl for her betrothed a matter to 
be held sacred. Three years later, when Vit- 
toria was nineteen and Francesco twenty, their 
marriage was celebrated in Castel d* Ischia with 
the richest state and beauty of ceremonial 
observance. A few months previous to this 
time she had returned to her father's countiy 
home in the family castle at Marino, whither 



both Fabrizio and Agnese Colonna accompanied 
their daughter. When the time appointed for 
her bridal came, Vittoria was escorted to Ischia 
by princes, and dukes, and ladies of honor, and 
the marriage gifts to the bride included a chain 
of rubies, diamonds, and emeralds, linked with 
gold; a writing desk of solid gold; wonderful 
bracelets ; costumes of velvets, and brocades and 
rich embroideries, and a portion of fourteen 
thousand ducats. 

''The noted pair had not their equals in Italy 
at this time,'' writes a contemporary historian. 
''Their life in Naples was all magnificence and 
festivity, and when they desired to exchange it 
for the country they left Naples for Pietzalba 
on Monte Emo, where they assembled pleasant 
parties of ladies and gentlemen. Much time 
was passed in their beloved Ischia, where the 
Duchessa, as Castellana, was obliged to receive 
much company. And here were found the 
flower of chivalry and the men most noted in 
letters. . . . They listened to the poets Sanaz- 
zaro, il Rota, and Bernardo Tasso; or th^y 
heard the admirable discourses on letters of 
Musefico, il Givoio, and il Minturo. It was an 
agreeable school for the youthful minds of Vit^* 



toria and Pescara. Thus passed in great happi* 
ness the first three years of their married life.'* 

It is not strange that to the young Marchesa 
di Pescara, Ischia had become an enchanted 
island. The scene of her happy childhood, of 
her studies, of her first eflforts in lyric art, of 
her stately and resplendent bridal; the home, 
too, of her early married life, — it is little 
wonder that in after years she translated into 
song its scenic loveliness and the thoughts and 
visions it had inspired. 

Again, the ever-recurring war came on, and 
in the spring of 1512 the King of Naples con- 
ferred the doubtful privilege on the Marchesa 
di Pescara of serving as the royal representative. 
It is said that Vittoria personally superintended 
her young husband's outfit, — in horses, at- 
tendants, armor, and other details belonging to 
a gentleman of rank. Her father and her uncle, 
Prospero Colonna, were also among the military 
who led Italian troops. In the terrible battle 
of Ravenna (which was fought on the Easter 
Sunday, April 11, of 1512), Pescara was wounded, 
taken prisoner, and carried to the fortress of 
Porta Gobbia. A messenger was sent to Ischia, 
where Vittoria lived between her books and the 



orange groves; and the twentieth-century cynic 
of 1907 will smile at the form in which she 
expressed her sorrow, — that of a poem of 
some forty stanzas, which began : — 

**EcceUo Mio Stgnori Questa ii gcrivo 
Per te narrar ire quarUe dvbbie voglie^ 
Fra quanti aspri tnartiry degliasa to vwoF* 

A translation of this lyric epistle, made in 
prose, gives it more fully as follows : — 

*^Eccelso Mio Signor: I write this to thee to 
tell thee amid what bitter anxieties I live. . • . 
I believed that so many prayers and tears, and 
love without measure, would not have been 
displeasing to God. . . • Thy great valor has 
shone as in a Hector or an Achilles.'' 

In this letter Vittoria tells him that when 
the messenger reached her, she was lying on 
a point of the island C'/, in the hody^ my mind 
always with thee^^* she says), and that the whole 
atmosphere had been to her that day ^'like a 
cavern of black fog," and that "the marine 
gods seemed to say to Ischia, * To-day, Vittoria, 
thou shalt hear of disgrace from the confines: 



thou now in health and honor, thou shalt be 
turned to grief; but thy father and husband are 
saved, though taken prisoners/" 

This presentiment she related to her hus- 
band's aunt, the Duchessa Francavilla, the 
Castellana of Ischia, who begged her not to 
think of it and said, **It would be strange for 
such a force to be conquered." 

Just after this conversation between the 
youthful Marchesa and the Duchessa, the 
messenger arrived. The psychic science of 
to-day would see in this occurrence a striking 
instance of telepathy. In her poetic epistle 
to her husband, Vittoria also says: — 

''A wife ought to follow her husband at home 
and abroad; if he suffers trouble, she suffers; 
if he is happy, she is ; if he dies, she dies. What 
happens to one happens to both; equals in 
life, they are equals in death. His fate is her 

These letters — in keeping with the times — 
were, on both sides, expressed in literary rather 
than in personal form. Pescara, from his cap- 
tivity, wrote to her a "Dialogue on Love," — 


a manuscript for which Visconti notes that he 
has searched in vain. 

The Marchesa di Pescara went from Ischia 
to Naples, after learning of the misfortunes 
that had overtaken her husband, in order that 
she might be able constantly to receive direct 
conmiunication regarding his fate. A few 
months later the Marchese returned, making 
the day "brilliant with joy*' to Vittoria, but after 
a year of happiness he was again called to ser- 
vice, and the Marchesa returned to her beloved 
Ischia. She gave herself to the study of the 
ancient classics; she wrote poems, and ** con- 
sidered no time of value but so spent," says 
Bota. The age was one of a general revival 
of learning. Royalty, the Pope, the princes 
and nobility were all giving themselves with 
ardor to this higher culture. Under Dante the 
Italian language assumed new perfection. This 
period was to Vittoria one of intense stimulus, 
and it must have had a formative influence on 
her gifts and her mental power. Having no 
children, she adopted a young cousin of her 
husband, the Marchese del Vasto, to educate 
and to be the heir of their estates. In 1515, 
Pescara again returned and the entire island 



of Ischia was '* aflame with bonfires, and the 
borders of the beautiful shore bright and warm 
with lights/' in honor of the event. Of this 
event, Vittoria wrote : — 


• • • 

My beloved returns to us ... his 
countenance radiant with piety to God, with 
deeds bom of inward faith.'' 

At a magnificent wedding festival in the 
d'Avalos family about this time, it is recorded 
that the Marchesa di Pescara ^'wore a robe of 
brocaded crimson velvet, with large branches of 
beaten gold wrought on it, with a headdress of 
wrought gold and a girdle of beaten gold around 
her waist." 

When the coronation of Charles V was to be 
celebrated at Aix-la-Chapelle the Marchese di 
Pescara was appointed ambassador to represent 
the House of Aragon on this brilliant occasion, 
when the new emperor was to be invested with 
the crown and the sceptre of Charlemagne. 
Charles had decided to journey by sea and to 
visit Henry VIII on the way, an arrangement 
of which Cardinal Wolsey was aware, although 
he had kept Henry in ignorance of it, according 



to those curious mental processes of his mind 
where his young monarch was concerned. 
Shakespeare, in the play of "King Henry VIII,'* 
describes the meeting of the two kings, which 
occurred at Canterbury, "at a grand jubilee in 
honor of the shrine of Thomas k Becket.'* 
One historian thus describes this scene : — 

**The two handsome young sovereigns rode 
into Canterbuiy under the same canopy, the 
great Cardinal riding directly in front of them, 
and on the right and left were the proud nobles 
of Spain and England, among whom was Pes- 
cara. The kings alighted from their horses at 
the west door of the cathedral and together 
paid their devotions before that rich shrine 
blazing with jewels. They humbly knelt on 
the steps worn by the knees of tens of thousands 
of pilgrims.** 

On the return to Naples of the Marchese di 
Pescara he told the story of his regal journey 
to an assemblage of nobles in the Church of 
Santa Maria di Monte Oliveto, and he then 
joined the Marchesa in Rome, where she had 
gone to visit her family and to pay her devo- 



tions to Leo X, who had just created Pompeo 
Colonna a cardinal. 

Pope Leo aspired to draw around him a 
court distinguished for its culture and bril- 
liancy in both art and literature. In this court 
the Marchesa di Pescara shone resplendent. 
**She was at the height of her beauty, and her 
charms were sung by the poets of the day/' 
says a contemporary. 

A year later Leo X died, succeeded by Adrian 
(who had been tutor to Charles V), to the 
intense and bitter disappointment of Cardinal 
Wolsey, who had made the widest — and wiliest 
— efforts to gratify his own ambition of reign- 
ing in the Papal chair. Again the war between 
France and Italy, that which seemed to be a 
perpetually smouldering feud, and the Mar- 
chese di Pescara, again sunmioned to battle, 
was wounded at Pavia. For some time he lay 
between life and death at Milan, and a mes- 
senger was sent to beg Vittoria to come to him. 
She set out on this journey, leaving Naples in 
great haste; but on reaching Viterbo another 
messenger met her with the tidings of the death 
of the Marchese, which had occurred on Nov. 25, 
1525. Overcome with grief, Vittoria was car- 



ried back to Rome and for the solace of entire 
seclusion she sought the cloistered silence of 
the convent of San Silvestre, which lay at the 
foot of the Monte Cavallo in Rome, almost 
adjoining the gardens of the Colonna palace. 
To the Marchese di Pescara, who had the mili- 
tary rank of general, was given a funeral of great 
pomp and splendor in Milan, and his body was 
brought to the famous Naples church of Santa 
Domenica Maggiore, where it was entombed 
with the princes and nobles of his house. 

Before the death of the Marchese there had 
been a political plot to join the Papal, Venetian, 
and Milanese forces and rescue Italy from the 
Emperor's rule, and the Pope himself had sent 
a messenger to Pescara asking him to unite 
with the league. The Marchese, Spanish by 
ancestry and by sympathies, used this knowl* 
edge to frustrate the Italian designs and to 
warn Spain. The Italian historians have exe- 
crated him for this act, which they regard as 
that of a traitor. Vittoria, however, did not 
take this view apparently, as in a letter to her 
husband she wrote: — 


Titles and kingdoms do not add to true 



honor. ... I do not desire to be the wife of 
a king, but I glory in being the wife of that 
great general who shows his bravery in war 
and, still more, by magnanimity in peace, sur* 
passes the greatest kings." 

The inducement of the throne of Naples had 
been held out to Marchese di Pescara. He 
evidently regarded this in the nature of a dis* 
honorable bribe, and it is this view which the 
Marchesa plainly shared. 

After his death her first impulse was to take 
the vows of a cloistered nun. The Pope him- 
self intervened to dissuade her, and she con- 
sented to enter, only temporarily, the convent 
of San Silvestre on the Monte Cavallo. 

In the will of the Marchese di Pescara there 
was a clause directing that anything in his 
estate unlawfully acquired should be restored 
to the owner; and under this, Vittoria gave back 
to the monastery of Monte Cassino the Monte 
San Mano that had formerly been its property. 

From the cloistered shades of the convent 
Vittoria removed to the family castle of the 
Colonna at Marino, where, on the shore of this 
beautiful lake (which was the scenery of Vir^ 



gil's iBneid), she passed some months, engaged 
in writing sonnets. Of one of these a transla- 
tion runs in part: — 

"I write solely to assuage my inward grief, 
which destroys in my heart the light of this 
world's sun; and not to add light to mio vel 
solo, to his glorified spirit. It is fit that other 
tongues should preserve his great name from 

In another, perhaps her most perfect sonnet, 
she beseeches the winds to convey to her be- 
loved the message she sends: — 

" Ch^io di lui sempre pensi; o piangay o parliy* 
— That I always think of him, or weep for him, 
or speak of him. 

Again, a year later, Vittoria returned to 
lovely Ischia, which, as one writer has described, 
"rises out of the blue billows of the Mediter- 
ranean like giant towers. The immense blocks 
of stone are heaped one upon another, in such 
a supernatural manner as to give a coloring to 
the legend, that beneath them, in those vast 



volcanic caverns, dwells the giant Tifeo/* The 
castle where the Duchessa Francavilla and the 
Marchesa Pescara lived is built on a towering 
mass of rock joined to the island by a cause- 
way. The castle includes the palace, a church, 
and other buildings for the family and their 
guests and dependants. 

For some three years the Marchesa did not 
again leave Ischia. In the mean time volumes 
of her poems were published. She received the 
acclamation of all the writers of her time. The 
crown of immortelles, often laid but on a tomb, 
was continually pressed upon her brow. She 
was the most famous woman of her time. Her 
beauty, her genius, her noble majesty of char- 
acter impressed the contemporary world. Her 
days were filled with correspondence with the 
most distinguished men of the day. Ariosto, 
Castiglione, Ludovico Dolce, Cardinal Bembo, 
Cardinal Contarini, and Paolo Giovio were 
among her nearer circle of friends. 

Stormy times fell upon Italy, in all of which 
the Colonna family bore prominent part, and 
all of which affected the life of Vittoria Colonna 
in many ways. Her biography, if written with 
fulness and accuracy, would be largely a his* 




tory of the Italy of that time, for her life seemed 
always inseparably united with great events. 

In the year 1530 (Clement VII being the 
Pope) a full Papal pardon had been extended 
to all the Colonna, and their castles and estates 
had also been restored to them. For years past 
Rome had been in a state of conflict. Ben* 
venuto Cellini, who had watched the terrible 
scenes from Castel San Angelo where he was 
immured, has described the terrors. The Eter- 
nal City, whose population under Leo X had 
been 90,000, was now — in 1530 — reduced to 
half that number. Palaces and temples had 
been the scenes of riot and destruction, yet to 
this very lawlessness of the time the Roman 
galleries of the present owe their ancient statues, 
which were uncovered by these assaults. The 
Coliseum was left in the ruined state in which 
it is now seen, and by the sale of the stones 
taken from it the Palazzo Barberini was 

Vittoria, coming again to Rome and revisit- 
ing its classic greatness, exclaimed that happy 
were they who lived in times so full of grandeur; 
to which the poet Molza gallantly replied that 
they were less happy, as they had not known 



her! Everywhere was she received with the 
highest honors. She made a tour, visiting 
Bagni di Lucca, Bologna, and Ferrara, where 
she was the guest of the Duca and Duchessa 
Ercole in the ducal palace. The Duchessa was 
the Princesse Renee, the daughter of Louis XT! 
of France, and an ardent friend of Calvin, who 
visited her in Ferrara. It was to this visit that 
Longfellow refers in his poem entitled *' Michael 
Angelo," when he pictures Vittoria as sitting 
for her portrait to the artist and conversing with 
her friend Giulia, the Duchess of Trajetto, 
Michael Angelo begs them to resume the con- 
versation interrupted by his entrance, and 
Vittoria says: — 

'*Well, first, then, of Duke Ercole, a man 
Cold in his manners, and reserved and silent. 

And yet magnificent in all his ways. 


To which the Duchessa replies: 

How could the daughter of a king of France 
Wed such a duke ?" 


'The men that women many. 
And why they many them, wiH always be 
A marvel and a mystery to the world." 




** And then the Duchess, — how shall I describe her» 
Or teU the merits of that happy nature 
Which pleases most when least it thinks of pleasing ? 
Not beautiful, perhaps, in form and feature. 
Yet with an inward beauty, that shines through 
Each look and attitude and word and gesture; 
A kindly grace of manner and behavior, 
A something in her presence and her ways 
That makes her beautiful beyond the reach 
Of mere external beauty; and in heart 
So noble and devoted to the truth, 
And so in sympathy with all who strive 
After the higher life.'* 


"She draws me to her 
As much as her Duke Eroole repels meJ 



'*Then the devout and honorable women 
That grace her court, and make it good to be there; 
Francesca Bucyronia, the true-hearted, 
Lavinia della Rovere and the Orsini, 
The Magdalena and the Cherubina, 
And Anne de Parthenai, who sings so sweetly; 
All lovely women, full of noble thoughts 
And aspirations after noble things. 
• • • • • 

With these ladies 
Was a young girl, Olympia Morata, 
Daughter of Fulvio, the learned scholar. 
Famous in all the universities: 



A marvellouB child, who at the spimung-wheely 

And in the daily round of household caies, 

Hath learned both Greek and Latin; and is now 

A favorite of the Duchess and companion 

Of Princess Anne. This beautiful young Sappho 

Sometimes recited to us Grecian odes 

That she had written, with a voice whose sadness 

ThriUed and overmastered me, and made me look 

Into the future time, and ask myself 

What destiny will be hers." 


''And what poets 
Were there to sing you madrigals, and praise 
Olympia's eyes?" . . . 


''None; for great Ariosto is no more.'* 

• • • • • 


"He spake of you." 


"And of yourself, no less. 
And of our master, Michael Angelo." 


"Of me?" 


"Have you forgotten that he calls yoa 
Michael, less man than angel, and divine ? 
You are imgrateful.' 



"A mere play on words.** 




The Duca and Duchessa of Ferrara invited 
the most distinguished persons in Venice and 
Bologna and Lombardy to meet their honored 
guest. Bishop Ghiberto of Verona besought 
her to visit that city. Vittoria accepted and 
was for some time the Bishop's guest in his 
palace, and she took great interest in the historic 
city. With the Bishop she visited the ancient 
Duomo, which in 1160 had been restored by Pope 
Urban II, and reconsecrated. It was a strong 
desire of the Marchesa at this time to make a 
pilgrimage to Jerusalem; but the journey was 
then so perilous and so long — none too easy, 
indeed, at the present time — that she was dis- 
suaded from the attempt. 

Verona, to do her honor, had a medal struck 
bearing her portrait. The group of great artists 
— Titian, Tintoretto, and Giorgione in Venice ; 
Fra Angelico, Bartolommeo, and others of that 
day — were creating their wonderful works which 
Vittoria must have seen and enjoyed during 
this tour. Raphael, whose death had occurred 
in 1520, Vittoria had, doubtless, known; but 
whether it was she who was the original of the 
Muse in his great picture of *' Parnassus/' as 
is alleged, is not fully established. 



^'ITnto my buried lord I give myseUt** 

wrote Vittoria Colonna in one of the sonnets 
to her husband's memory, and this line is the 
keynote to her entire life, both as woman and 
poet. It was no translation of her life into 
another key, no reckoning by stars that flashed 
from different skies, when there fell upon her 
the baptism and crown of that immortal friend- 
ship with Michael Angelo. 

The Marchesa di Pescara returned to Rome, 
from this notable tour in Northern Italy, in 
1538. She was received with the honors that 
her fame inspired. Michael Angelo was then 
deeply absorbed in painting his "Last Judg- 
ment," in the Capella Sistina. 

"Every one in Rome took an interest in the 
progress of this magnificent fresco, from the 
Pope (who continually visited the artist) down 
to the humblest of the people. We may im- 
agine Vittoria standing by the great painter to 
view his sublime work; but Michael Angelo 
did not require the patronage, even of a Colonna, 
and it is possible that Vittoria herself first 
sought out his friendship." 

In the Gasa Buonarroti, in Florence, hangs 



that exquisite picture painted of Italy's greatest 
woman poet, in her early youth; and in its rare 
and precious collection of manuscripts are the 
letters of Vittoria to the poet and sculptor. Her 
injBuence is said to have produced a great change 
in his religious views, influencing his mind to a 
more lofty and more spiritual comprehension of 
the divine laws that govern the universe. 

Condivi, in referring to this chapter in their 
lives, has said : — 

*'In particular he was most deeply attached 
to the M archesa di Pescara, of whose divine 
spirit he was enamoured, and he was beloved 
by her in return with much affection." 

It was about 1535 when Michael Angelo left 
Florence for Rome, appointed by the Pope, 
Paul HI, as the chief architect, sculptor, and 
painter of the Vatican. He was enrolled in 
the Pontifical household, and he at once began 
his work in the Sistine Chapel. Mr. Symonds 
believes that he must have been engaged upon 
the " Last Judgment " through 1536, 1537. The 
great artist was not without a keen wit of his 
own as well; for on receipt of a letter from Pietro 



Aretino, from Venice, in September of 1587, 
with praises of his work that Michael Angelo 
deemed extravagant, he replied that while he 
rejoiced in Aretino's commendation, he also 
grieved; "as having finished a laxge part of the 
fresco," he said, "I cannot realize your con- 
ception which is so complete that if the Day of 
Judgment had come and you had been present 
and seen it with your eyes, your words could 
not have described it better." ^ 

Vittoria Colonna now passed some years 
between Rome and Orvieto, that picturesque 
town with its magnificent cathedral rich in 
mediaeval art, where she Uved in the convent of 
St. Paolo d' Orvieto. She varied this residence 
by remaining at times in the convent of San 
Caterina di Viterbo, in that city. In Rome she 
had lived both at the convent of Santa Anna 
and also at the Palazzo Cesarini, which was the 
home of members of the Colonna family. A 
sonnet of Michael Angelo's written to Vittoria 
reflects the feeling that she inspired in him : — 

"Da che concetto ha 1' arte intera e diva 
La forma e gli atti d' alcun, poi di quello 
D' umil materia un semplice modello 
E 1 primo parto che da quel deriva. 



Ma nel aeoondo poi di pietra viva 
S' adempion le promesse del marteUo; 
£ fll rinasoe tal concetto e bello, 

Che ma' non h chi suo etemo prescriva. 

Simil, di me model, nacqu' io da prima; 
Di me model, per cosa piii perfetta 
Da vol rimisoer poi, domia alta e degna. 

Se 1 poco accresoe, '1 mio superchio lima 
Vostra pietk; qual peniten^ia aspetta 
Mio fiero ardor, se mi gastiga e insegna?*' 

Of this sonnet the foUowing beautiful trans- 
lation is made by John Addington Symonds : — 

''When divine Art conceives a form and face. 
She bids the craftsman for his first essay 
To shape a simple model in mere day: 

This is the earliest birth of Art's embrace. 

From the live marble in the second place 
His mallet brings into the light of day 
A thing so beautiful that who can say 

When time shall conquer that immortal grace ? 

Thus my own model I was bom to be — 
The model of that nobler self, whereto 
Schooled by your pity, lady, I shall grow. 

Each overplus and each defidenejr 
You will make good. What penance then is due 
For my fierce heat, chastened and taught by you ?'* 

The correspondence between Vittoria and 
Michael Angelo was undated, and all that now 
remains is fragmentary. 




The great artist, writing to his nephew, 
Sionardo, in 1664, says: — 

"Messer Giovan Francisco Fattucci asked 
me about a month ago if I possessed any writ- 
ings of the marchioness. I have a little book 
bound in parchment which she gave me some 
ten years ago. It has one hundred and three 
sonnets, not counting another forty she after- 
ward sent on paper from Viterbo. I had these 
bound into the same book, and at that time I 
used to lend them about to many persons so 
that they are all of them now in print. In 
addition to these poems I have many letters 
which she wrote from Orvieto and Viterbo. 
These, then, are the writings I possess of the 

In Rome, 1646, Michael Angelo thus writes 
to Vittoria : — 

"I desired, lady, before I accepted the things 
which your ladyship has often expressed the 
will to give me — I desired to produce something 
for you with my own hand in order to be as 
little as possible unworthy of this kindness. I 



have now come to recognize that the grace of 
God is not to be bought, and that to keep it 
waiting is a grievous sin. Therefore I ac- 
knowledge my error and willingly accept your 
favors. When I possess them — not, indeed, 
because I shall have them in my house, but for 
that I myself shall dwell in them — the place will 
seem to encircle me with paradise. For which 
felicity I shall remain ever more obliged to your 
ladyship than I am already, if that is possible. 
"The bearer of this letter will be Urbino, who 
lives in my service. Your ladyship may inform 
him when you would like me to come and see 
the head you promised to show me." 

With this letter Michael Angelo sent to 
Yittoria a sonnet which, in the translation 
made by John Addington Symonds, is as 
follows : — 


Seeking at least to be not all unfit 

For thj sublime and boundless courtesy. 

My lowly thoughts at first were fain to try 

What they could 3deld for grace so infinite. 

But now I know my unassisted wit 

Is all too weak to make me soar so high. 

For pardon, lady, for this fault I cry. 

And wiser still I grow remembering it 



Yea, will I see what f 0II7 't were to think 

That largess dropped from thee like dews from heaven* 

Could e'er be paid by work so frail as mine! 

To nothingness mj art and talent sink; 

He fails who from his mental stores hath given 

A thousandfold to match one gift divine." 

As a gift to Vittoria Colonna, Michael Angelo 
designed an episode from the Passion of our 
Lord, which Condivi describes as "a naked 
Christ at the moment when, taken from the 
cross, our Lord would have fallen at the feet 
of His most holy mother if two angels did not 
support Him in their arms. She sits below the 
cross with a face full of tears and sorrow, lifting 
both her widespread arms to heaven while on 
the stem of the tree above is written this legend : 
*N(m vi si pensa quanto sangue costa* The 
cross is of the same kind as that which was car- 
ried by the White Friars at the time of the 
plague of 1348, and afterward deposited in the 
Church of Santa Croce at Florence/' 

In presenting this cross to her he wrote : — 

"Lady Marchioness, being myself in Rome, I 
thought it hardly fitting to give the Crucified 
Christ to Messer Tommaso, and to make him an 



intermediary between your ladyship and me, 
especially because it has been my earnest wish 
to perform more for you than for any one I 
ever knew upon the world. But absorbing occu- 
pations, which still engage me, have prevented 
my informing your ladyship of this. Moreover, 
knowing that you know love needs no task- 
master, and that he who loves doth not sleep, 
I thought the less of using go-betweens. And 
though I seemed to have forgotten, I was doing 
what I did not talk about, in order to effect a 
thing that was not looked for, my purpose has 
been spoiled. He sins who faith like this so 
soon forgets." 

In reply Vittoria Colonna wrote : — 

"Unique Master Angelo and my most singu- 
lar friend: I have received your letter and ex- 
amined the crucifix which truly hath crucified 
in my memory every other picture I ever saw. 
Nowhere could one find another figure of our 
Lord so well executed, so living, and so ex- 
quisitely finished. I cannot express in words 
how subtly and marvellously it is designed. 
Wherefore I am resolved to take the work as 



coming from no other hand but yours. ... I 
have examined it minutely in full light and by 
the lens and mirror, and never saw anything 
more perfect/* 

She added: — 


Your works forcibly stimulate the 
judgment of all who would look at them. My 
study of them made me speak of adding good- 
ness to things perfect in themselves, and I 
have seen now that 'all is possible to him who 
believes.' I had the greatest faith in God that 
He would bestow upon you supernatural grace 
for the making of this Christ. When I came 
to examine it I found it so marvellous that it 
surpasses all my expectations. Wherefore, em- 
boldened by your miracles I conceived a great 
desire for that which I now see marvellously 
accomplished: I mean that the design is in all 
parts perfect and consunmiate. I tell you that I 
am pleased that the angel on the right hand is 
by far the fairer, since Michael will place you, 
with all angels, upon the right hand of the Lord 
some day. Meanwhile I do not know how 
else to serve you, than by making orisons to this 

Pag» Sli 



sweet Christ, whom you have drawn so weU 
and exquisitely, and praying you to hold me 
yours to command as yours in all and for all." 

Again Vittoria wrote to him : — 

*^ I beg you to let me have the crucifix a short 
while in my keeping, even though it be un- 
finished. I want to show it to some gentle- 
men who have come from the most reverend, 
the Cardinal of Mantua. If you are not work- 
ing will you not come at your leisure to-day 
and talk with me?'* 

It is an interesting fact to the visitor in the 
Rome of to-day that the convent of San Silvestre 
where Vittoria Colonna lived was attached to 
the church of San Silvestre in Capite, now used 
as the English-speaking Catholic church in the 
Eternal City. The wing which was formerly 
the convent (founded in 1318) is now converted 
into the central post office. 

It was in the sacristy of San Silvestre, deco- 
rated with frescoes by Domenichino, that a 
memorable meeting and conversation took place, 
one Sunday afternoon in those far-away days of 



nearly five hundred years ago, between Michael 
Angelo and Francesco d'Ollanda, a Spanish 
miniature artist, — the meeting brought about 
by Vittoria Colonna. The Spanish artist was 
a worshipper of Michael Angelo, who ** awak- 
ened such a feeling of love," that if d* Ollanda 
met him in the street ^^the stars would come out 
in the sky," he says, ^^ before I would let him go 
again." This fervent worship was hardly en- 
joyed by its object, who avoided the Spanish 
enthusiast. One Sunday, however, d* Ollanda 
had gone to San Silvestre finding there Tolomei, 
to whom he was also devoted, and Vittoria 
Colonna, both of whom had gone to hear the 
celebrated Fra Ambrosia of Siena expound the 
Epistles of St. Paul. The Marchesa di Pescara 
observed that she felt sure their Spanish friend 
would far rather hear Michael Angelo discuss 
painting than to hear Fra Ambrosia on the 
wisdom of St. Paul. Summoning an attendant 
she directed him to find Michael Angelo and tell 
him how cool and delightful was the church 
that morning and to beg him to join Messer 
Tolomei and herself; but to make no mention 
of the presence of d' Ollanda. Her woman's 
tact and her faultless courtesy were successful 


in procuring this inestimable privilege for the 
Spanish painter. Michael xlngelo came, and 
began the conversation — which was a mono- 
logue, rather, as all three of the friends wished 
only to listen to the master — by defending 
artists from the charge of eccentric and diffi- 
cult methods. With somewhat startUng candor 
Michael Angelo proceeded : — 

^'I dare affirm that any artist who tries to 
satisfy the better vulgar rather than men of 
his own craft will never become a superior 
talent. Foi; my part, I am bound to confess 
that even his Holiness wearies and annoys 
me by begging for too much of my company. 
I am most anxious to serve him, • . • but I 
think I can do so better by studying at home 
than by dancing attendance on my legs in his 
reception room." 

Another meeting of this little group was ap- 
pointed for the next Sunday in the Colonna 
gardens behind the convent, under the shadow 
of the laurel trees in the air fragrant with roses 
and orange blossoms, where they sat with Rome 
spread out like a picture at their feet. That 



beautiful terrace of the Colonna gardens, to 
which the visitor in Rome to-day always makes 
his pilgrimage, with the ruined statues and the 
broken marble flights of steps, is the scene of 
this meeting of Yittoria Colonna, Michael 
Angelo, and Francesco d' OUanda. On this sec- 
ond occasion the sculptor asserted his belief 
that while all things are worthy the artist's 
attention, the real test of his art is in the repre- 
sentation of the human form. He extolled the 
art of design. He emphasized the essential 
nature of nobleness in the artist, and added : — 

**In order to represent in some degree the 
adored image of our Lord, it is not enough that 
a master should be great and able. I maintain 
that he must also be a man of good conduct 
and morals, if possible a saint, in order that the 
Holy Ghost may rain down inspiration on his 

Of the relative degree of swiftness in work 
Michael Angelo said: — 

''We must regard it as a special gift from 
Grod to be able to do that in a few hours which 


other men can only perform in many days of 
labor. But should this rapidity cause a man 
to fail in his best realization it would be better 
to proceed slowly. No artist should allow his 
eagerness to hinder him from the supreme end 
of art — perfection." 

Mr. Longfellow, in his unfinished dramatic 
poem, "Michael Angelo" (to which reference 
has already been made), has one scene laid in 
the convent chapel of San Silvestre, in which 
these passages occur: — 


''Here let us rest awhile, until the crowd 
Has left the church. I have already sent 
For Michael Angelo to join us here." 


''After Fra Bernardino's wise discourse 
On the Pauline Epistles, certainty 
Some words of Michael Angelo on Art 
Were not amiss, to bring us back to earth.** 

• • • • • • 


''How like a Saint or Groddess she appeanl 
Diana or Madonna, which I know not» 
In attitude and aspect formed to be 
At once the artist's worship and deqwirl** 




'Welcome, Maestro. We were waiting for you*' 


''I met your messenger upon the way, 
And hastened hither." 


**It is kind of you 
To come to us, who linger here like gossips 
Wasting the afternoon in idle talk. 
These are all friends of mine and friends of youis. 


** If friends of yours, then are they friends of mine. 
Pardon me, gentlemen. But when I entered 
I saw but the Marchesa." 

Yittoria tells the master that the Pope has 
granted her permission to build a convent, and 
Michael Angelo replies : — 

''Ah, to build, to bufld! 
That is the noblest art of all the arts. 
Painting and sculpture are but images. 
Are merely shadows cast by outward things 
On stone or canvas, having in themselves 
No separate existence. Architecture, 
Existing in itself, and not in seeming 
A something it is not, surpasses them 
As substance shadow. . . . 



. • . Yet he beholdB 
Far nobler woriu who lodes upon the ruins 
Of temples in the Forum here in Rome. 
If God should give me power in my old age 
To build for Him a temple half as grand 
As those were in their gloiy, I should count 
My age more excellent than youth itself. 
And all that I have hitherto accomplished 
As only vanity." 

To which Vittoria responds : — 

'*I understand you. 
Art is the gift of Grod, and must be used 
Unto His g^oiy. That in art is highest 
Which aims at this." 

The poet, with his characteristically delicate 
divination, has entered into the inner spirit of 
these two immortal friends. 

Walter Pater, writing of Michael Angelo, 
truly says : — 

"Michael Angelo is always pressing forward 
from the outward beauty — il hel del fvor che 
agli occhi piace — to apprehend the unseen 
beauty; trascenda neUa forma universale — that 
abstract form of beauty about which the Pla- 
tonists reason. And this gives the impression 
in him of something flitting and unfixed, of the 



houseless and complaining spirit, almost clair- 
voyant through the frail and yielding flesh.'* 

Again we find Pater saying: — 

"Though it is quite possible that Michael 
Angelo had seen Vittoria, that somewhat shad- 
owy figure, as early as 1537, yet their closer 
intimacy did not begin till about the year 1542, 
when Michael Angelo was nearly seventy years 
old. Vittoria herself, an ardent Neo-Catholic, 
vowed to perpetual widowhood since the news 
had reached her, seventeen years before, that 
her husband, the youthful and princely Mar- 
quess of Pescara, lay dead of the wounds he 
had received in the battle of Pavia, was then 
no longer an object of great passion. In a 
dialogue written by the painter, Francesco 
d' OUanda, we catch a glimpse of them together 
in an empty church at Rome, one Sunday after- 
noon, discussing indeed the characteristics of 
various schools of art, but still more the writings 
of St. Paul, already following the ways and 
tasting the sunless pleasures of weary people, 
whose hold on outward things is slackening. 
In a letter still extant he regrets that when he 



visited her after death he had kissed her hands 
only. He made, or set to work to make, a 
crucifix for her use, and two drawings, perhaps 
in preparation for it, are now in Oxford. . . . 
In many ways no sentiment could have been 
less like Dante's love for Beatrice than Michael 
Angelo's for Vittoria Colonna. Dante's comes 
in early youth; Beatrice is a child, with the 
wistful, ambiguous vision of a child, with a 
character still unaccentuated by the influence 
of outward circumstances, almost expression- 
less. Vittoria is a woman already weary, in 
advanced age, of grave intellectual qualities. 
Dante's story is a piece of figured work inlaid 
with lovely incidents. In Michael Angelo's 
poems frost and fire are almost the only images 
— the refining fire of the goldsmith ; once or twice 
the phoenix; ice melting at the fire; fire struck 
from the rock which it afterwards consumes." 

Visconti notes that among Italian poets, 
Vittoria Colonna was the first to make religion 
a subject of poetic treatment, and the first to 
introduce nature's ministry to man into poetry. 
Rota, her Italian biographer, states that she 
died in February of 1547, in the Palazzo Cesa- 



rini. This palace is in Genzano, on Lago di 
Nemi, and has been one of the Colonna estates ; 
but from Visconti and other authorities it is 
evident that she died in Rome, either in the 
convent of Santa Anna or in the palace of Cesa- 
rini, the husband of her kinswoman, Giulio 
Colonna, which must have been near the con- 
vent in Trastevere, the old portion of Rome 
across the Tiber. Visconti records that on the 
last evening of her life when Michael Angelo 
was beside her, she said: **I die. Help me to 
repeat my last prayer. I do not now remember 
the words." He clasped her hand and repeated 
it to her, while her own lips moved, she gazed 
intently on him, smiled and passed away. 
This translation has been made of Vittoria 
Colonna's last prayer : — 

"Grant, I beseech Thee, O Lord, that I may 
ever worship Thee with such humility of mind 
as becometh my lowliness and such elevation of 
mind as Thy loftiness demandeth. • • • I en- 
treat, O Most Holy Father, that Thy most 
living flame may so urge me forward that, not 
being hindered by any mortal imperfections, I 
may happily and safely again return to Thee." 



It is recorded by an authority that her body, 
'* enclosed in a casket of cypress wood, lined 
with embroidered velvet," was placed in the 
chapel of Santa Anna which has since been 
destroyed. Visconti says: "She desired, with 
Christian humility, to be buried in the manner 
in which the sisters were buried when they died. 
And, as I suppose, her body was placed in the 
conmion sepulchre of the nuns of Santa Anna.'' 
Grimm declares that he cannot discover the 
place of her burial, and Visconti declares that 
her tomb remains unknown. 

But it is apparently a fact that the body of 
Vittoria Colonna is entombed in the sacristy 
of Santa Domenica Maggiore in Naples, the 
sarcophagus containing it resting by the side 
of the one containing the body of her husband, 
Francesco d' Avalos, Marchese of Pescara. This 
church is one of the finest in Naples, with 
twenty-seven chapels and twelve altars, and it 
is here that nearly all the great nobles of the 
kingdom of Naples are entombed. Here is the 
tomb of the learned Thomas Aquinas and here 
is shown, in relief, the miracle of the crucifix 
by Tommaso de Stef ani, which — as the legend 
runs — thus addressed the learned doctor: — 



**J5ene scripsiidi de mcy Thoma; quam ergo 
mercedem recipris ? ' ' 
To which he replied: **Non cdiam nisi 

It is in the sacristy in which Ke all the Princes 
of the House of Aragon that the sarcophagi 
of the Marchese and the Marchesa di Pescara 
are placed side by side in the high gallery 
near the ceiling. The altar has a fine Annun- 
ciation ascribed to Andrea da Salerno. The 
ceiling (whose coloring is as fresh and vivid 
as if painted yesterday) is by SoUmena. Around 
the walls near the ceiling are two balconies 
or galleries, filled with very large wooden 
sarcophagi, whose scarlet velvet covers have 
faded into yellow browns with pink shades, 
many of which are tattered and are falling to 
pieces. The casket containing the body of Fer- 
nando Francesco d*Avalos, Marchese of Pes- 
cara (the husband of Vittoria Colonna), has on 
it an inscription by Ariosto; and his portrait 
(showing in profile a young face with blonde 
hair and a full reddish brown beard) and a 
banner, also, is suspended above the casket. 
That containing the body of the Marchesa, 
his wife (Vittoria Colonna), has an aperture at 


the top where the wood is worn away and the 
embalmed form, partly crumbled, may be seen. 
This seems strange to the verge of fantasy, but 
it is, apparently, true. The writer of this 
volume visited the Church of Santa Domenica 
Maggiore in Naples in December of 1906, and 
was assured by the sacristan that this sarcopha- 
gus contains the body of the Marchesa. In- 
quiries were then made of other prelates and of 
the Archbishop, who gave the same assurance. 
Later, learned archaeologists in Home were 
appealed to, regarding this assertion made in 
Naples, and the consensus of opinion obtained 
declares their assertion true. Professor Lan- 
ciani has himself publicly expressed this con- 
viction. Still, it remains a curious question as 
to when this sarcophagus was placed in the 
sacristy, for the date goes back into long-buried 
centuries. ^^ 

Adjoining Santa Domenica Maggiore is the 
monastery in which Thomas Aquinas lived and 
lectured (in 1272), and the cell of the great 
doctor of philosophy is now made into a chapel. 
His lectures called together men of the highest 
rank and learning and were attended by the 
king and the members of the royal family. 



The entire locality of this church is replete with 
historic association. The most distinguished of 
the nobility of Naples have, for centuries, held 
their chapels in this church, and in these are 
many notable examples of Renaissance sculp- 

The Accad^mia des Arcades of Rome, 
founded in the seventeenth century to do honor 
to lyric art, celebrated the placing of a bust of 
Vittoria Colonna in a gallery of the Capitoline, 
in May of 1865, by a resplendent poetic festa. 
According to the gentle, leisurely customs of the 
land, where it is always afternoon and time has 
no value, thirty-two poets read their songs, 
written in Latin or in Italian, for this occasion, 
which were published in a sumptuous volume 
to be preserved in the archives of the Arcadians, 
who take themselves more seriously than the 
world outside quite realizes. This bust of Vit- 
toria Colonna was the gift of the Duca and 
Duchessa of Torlonia of that period. It was 
crowned with laurel, as that of Petrarca had 
been, and the government took official recogni- 
tion of the event. 

Groethe was made a member of this Accad^mia 
that regarded itself as reflecting the glories of 



the Grolden Age of Greece, and which was a 
century old at the time of his visit to Italy. 
"No stranger of any consequence was readily 
permitted to leave Rome without being invited 
to join this body," he recorded, and he wrote 
a humorous description of the formalities of 
his initiation. 

Mrs. Horatio Greenough was honored by 
being made a member of this Accad^mia in 
recognition of her musical accomplishments, 
and. the record of it is placed on the memorial 
marble over her grave in the Protestant cemetery 
in Rome. Every year, on Tasso's birthday 
(April 25), the Accad^mia holds a festa in a 
little amphitheatre near "Tasso's oak," on the 
Janiculum, at which his bust is crowned with 
laurel. The gardens in which the seventeenth- 
century Arcadians disported themselves are now 
known among the Romans as il Bosco Pat" 
rasio degli Arcadi. 

Throughout Italy the fame of Vittoria Colonna 
only deepens with every succeeding century. 
Her nobility of character, her lofty spirituality 
of life, fitly crowned and perfected her intel* 
lectual force and brilliant gifts. Although from 
the customs of the time the Marchesa lived 




much in convents, she never, in any sense, save 
that of her fervent piety, lived the conventual 
life. Her noble gifts linked her always to the 
larger activities, and her gifts and rank invested 
her with certain demands and responsibilities 
that she could not evade. She was one of 
the messengers of life, and her place as a 
brilliant and distinguished figure in the con- 
temporary world was one that the line of 
destiny, which pervades all circumstances and 
which, in her case, was so marked, abso- 
lutely constrained her to fill. She had that 
supreme gift of the lofty nature, the power of 
personal influence. Her exquisite courtesy and 
graciousness of manner, her simple dignity and 
unaffected sincerity, her delicacy of divination 
and her power of tender sympathy and liberal 
comprehension all combined to make her the 
ideal companion, counsellor, and friend, as well 
as the celebrity of letters and lyric art. 

No poet has more exquisitely touched the 
friendship between Vittoria Colonna and Mi- 
chael Angelo than has Margaret J. Preston, 
in a poem supposed to be addressed to the 
sculptor by Vittoria, in which occur the 




We twain — one lingering on the yiolet yeige» 
And one with eyes raised to the twilight peaks ^ 
Shall meet in the mom again. 

• . . Supremest truth I gave; 
Quick comprehension of thine unsaid thought. 
Reverence, whose crystal sheen was never blurred 
By faintest film of over-breathing doubt; 

. helpfulness 
Such as thou hadst not known of womanly hands; 
And 83nnpathies so urgent, th^ made bold 
To press their way where never mortal yet 
Entrance had gained, — even to thy soul." 

This is the Page de Conii that one reads in 
the air as he sails past Isehia on the violet sea; 
and the chant d^amour of the sirens catches 
the echo of lines far down the centuries : — 


I understood not, when the angel stooped. 
Whispering, 'Live on! for yet one joyless soul. 
Void of true faith in human happiness. 
Waits to be won by thee, from unbelief.' 

Now, an is dear. For thy sake I am ^ad 
I waited. Not that some far age may say, — 
* Ood^s ben%8on on her, since she was the friend 
Of Michad Angdor 

n* i#.*«L.^ A^^j^i*** 


8o somdimet eome$ io wovl and wmm 
The feding which is evidence 
That very near about as liee 
The realm cf tpmtual myeteriet. 
The ephere of the eupemal jfowen 
Impingee on this toorld of ours. 
The law and dark horizon UftSf 
To Ught the seenie terror shifts; 
The breath of a diviner air 
Blows down the answer of a prayer: *— 
That all our sorrow, pain, and doubt 
A great compassion dasps about. 
And law and goodness, love and foreep 
Are wedded fast beyond divorce. 
Then duty leaves to love its task. 
The beggar Sdf forgets to ask; 
Wiih smile of trust and folded hands. 
The passive soul in uHjadng stands 
To fed, as flowers the sun and dew. 
The One true lAfe its own renew. 


**For Thou only art holy. Thou only art the Lord. Thou 
only, O Chrid, with the Holy Ohod, art mod high in the Olory 
(^ God the Father:* 

Bametmea in heofvenrieni iinamB I do bAcU 

A cUy vnth Hi turrda high in air. 

Its gates that gleam wiih jeweU strange and rare. 
And streets that glow with burning of red gdd; 
And happy sotdsy through Uessedness grown bold. 

Thrill wUh their praises all the radiant air. 

And Ood himsdf is tight, and shineth there 
On glories tongue of man hath never told. 

And in my dreams I thUher march, nor stay 
To heed earth* s voices, howsoever they eattt 

Or proffers of the joys of this brief day. 
On which so soon the sunset shadows fall; 

I seethe Oleaming Gates, and totoard them press — 

What though my path lead through the Wilderness f 

LomsB Chandlbs Moulton. 


Oh, Italy! thy strength, thy power, thy crown 
lie in the life that in Aflsiai rtirs 
The heart, with impulse of self-sacrifioe; 
Where still St. Frands gathers weaiy souls 
In his great love, which reaches out to all. 

His blessing falls 
In dear sweet tones: "Benedioat Obi 
Convertat vuUum auum adie H 
Del PacemI " Hushed and holy silence breathes 
About the wanderer who lifts his heart 
To catch the echo of that voice of love. 

Cilia RicmiOiiiD. 

The mystic pilgrimage to Assisi, the *' Seraphic 
City," prefigures itself almost as a journey to 
the Mount of Vision. "Any line of truth that 
leads us above materiahsm/' says Dr. Wilber- 
force, Venerable Archdeacon of Westminster 
Abbey, "that forces us to think, that en- 
courages the imagination to pierce the world's 
cobwebs, that forces us to remember that 
we are enwrapped by the supernatural, is 
helpful and stimulating. A human life lived 



only in the seen and felt, with no sense of the 
invisible, is a fatally impoverished life, a poor, 
blind, wingless life, but to believe that ever 
around us is a whole world full of spiritual 
beings; that this life, with its burdens, is but 
the shadow which precedes the reality; that 
here we are but God's children at school, is 
an invigorating conviction, full of hope, pro- 
ductive of patience and fruitful in self-control." 
To an age imprisoned in the fear of God 
the "sweet saint," Francis, brought the message 
of the love of God. To an age crushed under 
the abuses of religion as an organization of 
feudal bishops and ecclesiastics, St. Francis 
brought the message of hope and of joy. He 
revealed to his age the absolute reality of the 
spiritual world that surrounds us. He was 
bom into a time when there existed on the 
one hand, poverty and misery; on the other, 
selfish and debasing self-indulgence of wealth 
and its corresponding oppression of the poor. 
The Church itself was a power for conquest 
and greed. Its kingdom was of this world. 
St. Bernard and others had nobly aimed to 
effect a reform and had illustrated by their own 
lives the beautiful example of simplicity and 



unselfishness, but their work failed in effective- 
ness and permanent impress. 

'Oh, beauty of holinefls! 

Of adf-forgetfulness, of lowlineii.' 

Not only in beauty, but in power does it 
stand. St. Francis brought to the sad and 
problematic conditions of his time that resist- 
less energy of infinite patience, of a self-control 
based on insight into the divine relationships 
of life, and of unfailing fideUty to his high pur- 
pose. Through good report or through evil 
report he kept the faith, and pressed onward 
to the high calling of God. The twelfth and the 
thirteenth centuries had been a period of re- 
ligious unrest and chaos. As Archdeacon Wil- 
berforce has so impressively said in the words 
quoted from him, a life lived with no sense of 
the invisible is blind and impoverished. The 
movement initiated by St. Francis proclaimed 
anew the divine grace and love. 

"Tokens are dead if the things live not. The light everlasting 
Unto the blind is not, but is bom of the eye that has vision." 

Something not unlike this trend of thought 
must drift through the mind of every one 



who journeys through the lovely IJmbrian 
country to Assisi, one of those picturesquely 
beautiful hill towns of Italy whose romantic 
situation impresses the visitor. Seen from a 
little distance, one could hardly imagine how 
it could be reached unless he were the fortxmate 
possessor of an airship. The entire region 
is most picturesque in character. Journeying 
from Rome to Assisi there is a constant as- 
cent from the Campagna to the Apennines, 
and the road passes through wild defile and 
valley with amethyst peaks shining fair against 
the sky, with precipitous rocks, and the dense 
growth of oak and pine trees. In some places 
the valley is so narrow that the hills, on either 
side, rise almost within touch of the hand from 
the car window. The hill towns are frequent, 
and the apex of these towns is invariably 
crowned with a castle, a cathedral, or a ruin, 
and around it, circling in terraces, is built the 
town. The charm largely vanishes when fairly 
in these circling roads, for on either side are 
high walls, so that one's view is completely 
bounded by them; but from the summit and 
from the upper floors of the houses the most 
beautiful views are obtained. The Umbrian re- 


gion, in which are located Perugia, Assisi, Spello, 
Foligno, Spoleto, Temi, Nami, and others, is 
simply the gem region of all Italy. The Um- 
brians are the most ancient of the Italian people, 
and Assisi claims to have been founded eight 
hundred and sixty-five years before the found- 
ing of Rome. It was the scene of constant 
warfare, and the streets are all underlaid by 
subterranean passages, in which the inhabitants 
could disappear from their enemies. 

To this ancient Umbrian city, from which 
went out the life and light that carried wonder- 
ful currents of vitality and illumination to all 
Italy and into almost all parts of the world, one 
comes as to a special and a sacred pilgrimage. 
For this mediaeval town, perched on the top of 
a rocky hill, is the birthplace of St. Francis, 
the founder of the Franciscan order; in it were 
the scenes of his early life, and here, in 1226, 
at the age of forty-four years, he died. The 
convent-church of San Francesco, built to his 
memory in 1280; the lower church, completed at 
that date, while the upper was finished in 1253; 
the magnificent Cathedral of Santa Maria Degli 
Angeli, completed in 1640; the Church of Santa 
Chiara and the Duomo, are the points of interest. 



The purple Apennines, on one spur of which 
Assisi is built, are a picturesque feature of lovely 
Umbria. The old houses of Assisi rise white 
in the sunshine. The ancient walls still sur- 
round the city, and its towers stand as they 
stood before the eyes of St. Francis, almost seven 
centuries ago. The peak of Mt. Subasio, a 
neighboring peak of the Apennines, looms above 
the colossal rock that crowns the hill around 
whose top Assisi clusters in winding terraces. 
The massive pile of the Francescan church and 
monastery — the two churches, one above the 
other — forms an architectural group whose im- 
posing aspect arrests the eye of every traveller 
for miles around. The pointed arches of the 
cloisters and the square campanile contrast 
rather than blend in an effective and harmoni- 
ous manner and resemble military fortifications 
rather than an edifice of the church. The old 
walls still surround Assisi, and the houses all 
rise white under the blue Italian sky. The 
narrow streets, hardly wide enough for one car- 
riage to pass another, are so intricate in their 
curves as they climb the steep hill, that it re- 
quires a faith hardly less than the traditional 
degree said to move mountains to lead the 





visitor to suppose that he will ever emerge from 
one that he has entered. Many of the houses 
along these curious thoroughfares have no win- 
dows, the only light and air coming through the 
open door. The bells from the campanile 
of the Francescan convent-church, from the 
Duomo and from the Church of Santa Chiara 
ring every quarter of an hour; and this constant 
clash of bells is almost the only sound that 
breaks the silence of the mediaeval town, which 
lends itself to visions and to dreams. On the 
very air is stamped the impress of St. Francis. 
His personality, his teachings, his faith per- 
vaded the atmosphere in a way that no one 
could believe until he had himself entered into 
the experience. In narration it cannot but 
seem like a pleasing and half -poetic fancy; 
but the lingerer in this shrine of religion 
and art will realize that the actual personality 
of the man who trod these streets nearly 
seven hundred years ago is strangely before 
him. Canon Knox Little, in a series of lec- 
tures on St. Francis of Assisi delivered in 
the Ladye Chapel of Worcester Cathedral a 
few years since, says of the panorama of the 
town: — 



"The scene which from Assisi presented itself 
daily to his youthful eyes must have had, did 
have, as we know, a lasting effect upon his mind. 
From thence the eye surveys a noble coronet of 
stately mountains. You look from Radicofani, 
above Trena, to Monte Catria, famous as the 
scene of some of Dante's saddest times of soli- 
tude, and ever is the eye satisfied with the grace 
and grandeur of the curves of mountain outline, 
and the changing hues of an incomparable sky. 
There are rivers and cities and lakes, — from 
Thrasymene, just hidden by a line of crests, to 
the Paglia and Tiber beneath, where Orvieto 
crowns its severe and lonely rock. With the 
changing lights and shadows always beautiful in 
the vivid spring or burning summer, tender-tinted 
autumn or clear and sparkling winter, with the 
bright and pure and buoyant atmosphere always 
giving life and vigor, what spot on earth more 
fitted as the birthplace of the saint who was, 
above all things, bright and tender and strong ? " 

Assisi was an important town in the twelfth 
century when Francis, the son of Pietro Bemar- 
done di Mercanti, wandered over its hills, and 
after severe fasting and prayer communed with 



God. Bom in the midst of the constant war* 
fare between Assisi and Perugia, he was first a 
soldier. He was captured and thrown into 
prison, and it was a remarkable dream, or vision, 
that came to him before he was set free, that 
determined his life of consecration. Tradition 
invested his birth with legends, one of which is, 
that in his infancy an aged man came to the 
door and begged to be permitted to take the 
child in his arms, prophesying that he was 
destined to accomplish a great work. Pietro 
Bemardone was a wealthy merchant of Assisi. 
Pica, the mother of Francis, is said to have been 
of noble origin and of a deeply religious nature. 
The early youth of Francis was given to games, 
festivals, and pleasures that degenerated into 
dissipation, but the mother continually affirmed 
her assurance that, if it pleased God, her 
son would become a Christian. In this atmos- 
phere was nurtured "the sweet-souled saint 
of mediaeval Italy," who is described as a fig- 
ure of magical power, whose ardent tempera- 
ment and mystic loveliness attracted to him 
all men. 

There is also a legend that Pica went to pray 
at the Portiuncula and that, for seven years, 



she prayed for a son. Her prayer was answered 
in the coming of the infant who was to be the 
great saint of all the ages. Francis, in his child- 
hoody also knelt and prayed at this shrine. In 
the year 1211, when Francis was twenty-nine 
years of age and had entered on his ministry, 
this chapel was given to him, ^'and no sooner 
had they come to live here," it is said, "than 
the Lord multiplied their number from day to 
day." At one time he had gone to his devotions 
in great depression of spirits, "when, suddenly, 
an unspeakable ecstasy filled his breast. 'Be 
comforted, my dearest,' he said, 'and rejoice 
in the Lord, and let us not be sad that we are 
few; for it has been shown to me by Grod that 
you shall increase to a great multitude and shall 
go on increasing to the end of the world. I see 
a multitude of men coming to me from eveiy 
quarter — French, Spaniards, Germans, Eng- 
lish — each in their different tongues encourag- 
ing the others.' " 

At a distance of perhaps a mile and a half 
from Assisi, down in the valley near the railroad 
station, four holy pilgrims founded a shrine in 
the fourth century. Later, on this site, St. 
Benedict erected a tiny chapel, called "St. 



Maria della Portiuncula" (St. Mary of the 
Little Patron), and once, when praying in the 
chapel, Benedict had a vision of a vast crowd of 
people kneeling in ecstasy, chanting hymns of 
praise, while outside greater multitudes waited 
to kneel before the shrine, and he took this to 
mean that a great saint would one day be hon- 
ored there. 

So the legends, still conversationally told in 
Assisi, run on and are locally current. Un- 
doubtedly the dwellers in this curious old town, 
whose streets have hardly one level spot but 
climb up and down the steep hillside, realize 
that their saint is their title to fame and their 
revenue as well; yet through all the tales there 
breathes a certain sincerity and simplicity of 
worship. The little dark primitive shops teem 
with relics, which make, it is true, a great 
draft on imagination, and by what miracle 
modem photography has contrived to present 
the saint of Assisi in various impressive attitudes 
and groups it would be as well not to inquire 
too closely. It is a part of the philosophy of 
travel to take the goods the gods provide, and 
the blending of amused tolerance and unsus- 
pected depths of reverential devotion by which 



the visitor will find himself moyed» while in 
Assisiy can hardly be described. For, surefy, 

• • • there trod 
Hie whitest of the sainU of God." 

and Catholic or Protestant, one equally enters 
into the beauty of his memory. The double 
and triple arches of the convent church enclose 
cloistered walls continually filled with visitors. 
No shrine in Italy holds such mysterious power. 
Simplicity and joy were the two keynotes of 
the life taught by St. Francis. "Poverty," he 
asserted, "is the happy state of life in which 
men are set free from the trammels of conven- 
tionalism, and can breathe the pure air of God's 
love. The richest inward life is enjoyed when 
life is poorest outwardly. Be poor," he con- 
tinued, "try a new principle; be careless of 
having and getting; try being ^ for a change. 
Our life in the world ought to be such that any 
one on meeting us should be constrained to 
praise the heavenly Father. Be not an occa- 
sion of wrath to any one," he often said, "but 
by your gentleness may all be led to press on- 
ward to good works." 



The supreme aim of Francis was that of 
service to humanity. He gave himself with 
impassioned fervor to this one work. For him 
there were no ideals of cloistered seclusion or 
of devotion to learning and art, but the ideal 
alone to uplift humanity. It was literally and 
simply, indeed, the Christ ideal. Of the " Rule " 
made, one of his biographers says : — 

''Amid all these encouragements the Rule 
was made. It consists, like other monastic 
rules, of the three great vows of poverty, chas- 
tity, and obedience, differing only in so far that 
the poverty ordained by Francis was absolute. 
In other rules, though the individual was allowed 
to possess nothing, the community had often 
rich possessions, and there was no reason why 
the monks should not fare sumptuously and 
secure to themselves many earthly enjoyments, 
notwithstanding their individual destitution and 
their vow. But among the Brothers Minor 
there was not to be so much as a provision se- 
cured for the merest daily necessities. Day by 
day they were to live by God's providence, eat- 
ing what was given to them, taking no thought 
how they were to be fed, or wherewithal clothed ; 



'neither gold nor silver in your purses;' not 
even the scrip to collect fragments in — as if 
God could not provide for every returning neces- 
sity. There had been monasteries in Italy for 
centuries, and the Benedictines were already a 
great and flourishing conmiunity; but this abso- 
lute renunciation of all things struck a certain 
chill to the hearts of all who heard of it, except 
the devoted band who had no will but that of 
Francis. His friend, the Bishop of Assisi, was one 
of those who stumbled at this novel and wonder- 
ful self-devotion. *Your life, without a posses- 
sion in the world, seems to me most hard and 
terrible,' said the compassionate prelate. 'My 
lord,' said Francis, 'if we had possessions, arms 
and protection would be necessary to us.' There 
was a force in this response which perhaps we 
can scarcely realize, but the Assisan bishop, who 
knew something of the temper of the lords of 
Umbria, and knew how lonely were the brethren 
dwelling on the church lands — the little plot 
(Portiuncula) a whole half league from the city 
gates — understood and perceived the justice of 
the reply. 

''Another grand distinction of the Rule drawn 
up by Francis was the occupation it prescribed 



to its members. Thej were not to shut them- 
selves up, or to care first for their own salva- 
tion. They were to preach — this was their 
special work; they were to proclaim repentance 
and the remission of sins; they were to be 
heralds of God to the world, and proclaim the 
coming of His kingdom. It is not possible to 
suppose that when he thus began to organize 
the mind of Francis did not make a survey of 
the establishments already in existence — the 
convents bound by the same three great vows, 
where life at this moment was going on so 
placidly, with flocks and herds and vineyards to 
supply the communities, and studious monks 
in their retirement, safe from all secular anxie- 
ties, fostering all the arts in their beginning, and 
carrying on the traditions of learning; while all 
around them the great unquiet, violent world 
heaved and struggled, yet within the convent 
walls there was leisure and peace. Blessed 
peace and leisure it was often, let us allow, 
preserving for us the germs of many good things 
we now enjoy, and raising little centres of safety 
and charity and brotherly kindness through the 
country in which they were placed. But such 
quiet was not in the nature of Francis. So far 



as we can make out, he had thought little of 
himself — even of his own soul to be saved — 
all his life. The trouble on his mind had been 
what to do, how suflBciently to work for God 
and to help men. His fellow creatures were 
dear to him; he gave them his cloak from his 
shoulders many a day, and the morsel from 
his own lips, and would have given them the 
heart from his bosom had that been possible.'* 

These are the "voices " that still echo in the air 
of Assisi. In the suburbs is still shown the spot 
where the chapel of St. Damian stood up a roclsy 
path on the hillside in an olive grove. It was 
here that the scene of the miracle of the crucifix 
is laid. Before the altar Francis knelt, praying : 
"Great and Glorious Father, and thou. Lord 
Jesus, I pray ye, shed abroad your light in the 
darkness of my mind. May I in all things act 
in accordance with thy holy will." 

It is recorded that while he thus knelt in deep 
prayer, he was unable to turn his eyes from the 
cross, conscious that something marvellous was 
taking place. The image of the Saviour as- 
sumed life; the eyes turned attentively on him; 
a voice spoke accepting his service and he felt 



at once endowed with the most marvellous tide 
of vitality, of joy, and of exhilaration. At this 
moment he entered on that life whose impress 
is left on the ages. Of the character and the 
peculiar quality of its influence Mrs. Oliphant 
well says : — 

"It is not always possible to follow with our 
sympathy that literal, childlike rendering of 
every incident in the life of the Master, which 
sometimes looks fantastical and often unmean- 
ing. He was a man of his time, and could live 
only under the conditions which that time 
allowed. He made visible to a literal, practical, 
unquestioning age the undeniable and astound- 
ing fact that the highest of all beings chose a 
life of poverty, hardship, and humbleness; that 
He chose submission instead of resistance, love 
instead of oppression, peace and forgiveness in- 
stead of revenge and war. Christ had died in 
their hearts, as said the legend of that Christmas 
at Greccia; and, as in one of the bold and art- 
less pictures just then beginning to yield to a 
more refined and subtle art, Francis set forth 
before the world the image of his Master. The 
Son of man was lifted up, as on another cross, 



before the eyes of Umbria, before all Italy, 
warlike and wily, priest and baron, peasant and 
Pope. In this world Francis knew nothing, 
acknowledged nothing, cared for nothing save 
Christ and Him crucified — except, indeed, 
Christ's world, the universe redeemed, the souls 
to be saved, the poor to be comforted, the friends 
to be cherished, the singing birds and bubbling 
fountains, the fair earth and the sweet sky. 
Courteous, tender, and gentle as any paladin, 
sweet-tongued and harmonious as any poet, 
liberal as any prince, was the barefooted beggar 
and herald of God. We ask no visionary rev- 
erence for the Stigmata, no wondering belief in 
any miracle. As he stood, he was as great a 
miracle as any then existing under God's abun- 
dant, miraculous heavens ; more wonderful than 
are the day and night, the sun and the dew; 
only less wonderful than that great Love which 
saves the world, and which it was his aim and 
destiny to reflect and show forth/' 

That mystic union to which all the ages 
attest, the union that may, at any moment, be 
formed between the soul and God, that mystery 
which the church calls conversion and which 



finds its perfect interpretation in the words of 
St. Paul, when he said, that if any man be in 
Christ he is a new creation, had been accom- 
plished in the life of Francis. He realized the 
fulness of the knowledge of Gknl's will; he longed 
only for wisdom and for spiritual understanding. 
Nor is this experience one to be relegated to the 
realm of miracle. It is simply entering into 
the supreme completeness of life. It is not 
alone St. Paul, but every man, who may truly 
say, *'I can do all things through Christ, who 
strengtheneth me." Nor does this experience, 
when translated arifi^ht into daily life and action, 
require any abnorLl form of «p«,«.n. It 
does not, in its truest significance, mean a life 
apart from the ordinary duties, but rather 
it means that these duties shall be fulfilled in 
the larger and nobler way. The exceptional 
man may be called to be the standard bearer; 
to renounce all domestic ties and give his ser- 
vice to the world; but such a life as this differs 
only in degree from that which in the ordinary 
home and social relations finds ample means 
for its best expression. The persistent aim 
after perfection should be the keynote of every 
life. No one should be satisfied to hold as his 



supreme ideal any lesser standard of ultimate 
achievement than is involved in the divine com- 
mand, "Be ye therefore perfect, even as your 
Father in heaven is perfect.*' This is the 
souFs ideal, whatever ages and eternities it may 
require for it to recognize this trackless path. 

St. Francis recognized joy as a factor of the 
nobler life. "It was his constant effort,*' writes 
one biographer, "that there should be bright 
looks and cheerful tones about him. To one 
of his brethren, who had the habit of walking 
about sadly with his head drooping, he said, — 
it is evident, with a spark of the impatience 
natural to his own vivacious spirit, — *You 
may surely repent of your sins, my brother, 
without showing your grief so openly. Let 
your sorrow be between God and you: pray to 
Him to pardon you by His mercy, and to restore 
to your soul the joy of His salvation. But before 
me and the others be always cheerful, for it 
does not become a servant of God to have an 
air of melancholy and a face full of trouble.*'* 

An incident in the early life of St. Francis, 
which had determining significance, was his 
meeting with Dominic. The story is told "that 
Dominic, praying in a church in Rome, saw, in 





a vision, our Lord rise from the right hand of 
the Father in wrath, wearied at last with the 
contradiction of sinners, with a terrible aspect 
and three lances in his hand, each one of which 
j;; was to destroy from the face of the earth a dis- 

^ tinct class of offenders. But while the dreamer 

gazed at this awful spectacle, the Virgin Mother 
arose and pleaded for the world, declaring that 
she had two faithful servants whom she was 
about to send into it to bring sinners to the 
Lj feet of the Saviour; one of these was Dominic 

himself, the other was a poor man, meanly 
clad, whom he had never seen before. This 
vision came to the devout Spaniard, according 
to the legend, during the night, which he spent, 
as he was wont, in a church, in prayer. Next 
morning, while he mused on the dream which 
had been sent to him, his eye fell all at once 
upon a stranger in a brown tunic, of aspect as 
humble and modest as his garb, coming into 
the same church to pray. Dominic at once ran 
to him, fell on his neck, and, saluting him with 
a kiss, cried, * Thou art my companion : thy work 
and mine is the same. If we stand by each 
other, nothing can prevail against us/" 
No magic mirror, however, revealed to Fran- 








cis the wonderful panorama of his future. No 
sibyl turned the leaves of the records yet to 
unfold. "He was preparing himself for a life 
of penitence rather than a life of activity/' in 
the opinion of Paul Sabatier, and he had 
dreamed no dream of becoming a religious 
founder. He was so entirely without any per- 
sonal ambition, save that of being obedient to 
the Heavenly Vision, that this absolute conse- 
cration of purpose enabled the divine power 
to work through him without obstruction. He 
became a veiy perfect instrument, so to speak, 
in the divine hand. After repairing the Uttle 
chapel called the Portiuncula, on the level 
ground at the foot of the hill, some two miles 
from Assisi, his plan was to there pass his time 
in meditation and prayer. But the legend runs 
that on the feast of St. Mathias (February 24), in 
the winter of 1209, a Benedictine monk was 
celebrating mass and on his turning to read, 
"Wherever ye go preach, saying. The kingdom 
of heaven is at hand,'* Francis was profoundly 
and peculiarly impressed, and he exclaimed: 
"This is what I desire, O Father; from this 
day forth I set myself to put this command in 
practice." He felt that Jesus himself had 



spoken to him through the priest. Love and 
sacrifice became to him the supreme ideals, 
and in this moment, in that poor and bare Uttle 
chapel, was inaugurated one of the greatest 
and most far-reaching religious movements of 
the entire world. 

"Not always as the whirlwind's rush 

On Horeb's mount of fear. 
Not always as the burning bush 

To Midian's shepherd seer, 
Not as the awful voice which came 

To Israel's prophet bards, 
Nor as the tongues of cloven flame» 

Nor gift of fearful words, — 

''Not always thus with outward sign 
Of fire or voice from Heaven 
The message of a truth divine. 
The call of God is given!" 

That great ministry of St. Francis, whose 
influence pervades all time, — that lies between 
the opening years of the thirteenth and the 
opening years of the twentieth centuries, — was 
initiated the next morning in Assisi, when Fran- 
cis preached for the first time. He spoke simply, 
emphasizing the truths he had learned to realize 
through his own experience: the absolute duty 



of following after perfection; the importance of 
realizing the shortness of life and the need of 
repentance. The jGrst disciple of Francis was 
a wealthy resident of Assisi, named Bernardo. 
He was impressed with the conviction that he 
should distribute his possessions and unite with 
Francis in all his aims and work. Without 
definite organization, others joined them. They 
passed that spring and summer going up and 
down the country, sometimes assisting the har- 
vesters and haymakers, and everywhere enter- 
ing into the common life of the people. The 
Bishop of Assisi, however, remonstrated with 
Francis, saying that to him it seemed very harsh 
and unwise to try to live without owning any- 
thing. To which Francis replied that he did 
not desire temporal possessions, as these re- 
quired arms for their defence and were an 
obstacle to the love of God and one's neighbor. 
It has remained for later years to discern the 
still truer significance of the teachings of Jesus, 
that neither possessions nor the lack of pos- 
sessions form the real test, but the use which is 
made of them. As spiritual insight is developed 
it is more and more clearly realized that the 
quality of the life lived is the sole matter of 



importance, and not the conditions that sur- 
round it. 

The brotherhood increased. The abbot of 
the Benedictines on Monte Subasio ceded to 
Francis and his order the little chapel called 
the Portiuncula, now enclosed within the vast 
and magnificent church of Santa Maria degli 
Angeli. M. Paul Sabatier, in his admirable 
biography of St. Francis, points out clearly that 
the founder of the Franciscans contemplated a 
laboring and not a mendicant order. During 
the decade 1211 to 1221, which Francis and his 
followers passed at the Portiuncula, a portion of 
the time was constantly passed in industrial pur- 
suits. "With all his gentleness, Francis knew 
how to show an inflexible severity toward the 
idle," says Sabatier, "and he even went so far 
as to dismiss a friar who refused to work." 
Although Francis espoused poverty, declaring 
that she was his bride, he was unfalteringly loyal 
to the ideals of honest industry and integrity. 

The mystic legends of the life of their saint 
that abound in Assisi are touched with poetic ro- 
mance in that a companion figure is always seen 
by his side, that of Santa Chiara. Not more 
inseparable in popular thought are Dante and 



Beatrice, or Petraxca and Laura, than are Fran- 
cis and Clara. Their statues stand side by side 
in the Duomo; they are represented together 
by both painter and sculptor in the churches 
of Santa Chiara and Santa Maria degli Angeli 
in the old hill town. Chiara was the daughter 
of a noble family, and as a girl of sixteen, com- 
ing under the influence of Francis from hearing 
one of his sermons, she, too, became one of 
his followers and left her father's palace in 
Assisi to take the vows of perpetual and volun- 
tary poverty at the altar of the Portiuncula. 
Followed by two women, she passed swiftly 
through the town in the dead of the night, and 
through dark woods, her hurrying figure seem- 
ing like some spirit driven by winds towards an 
unknown future. One thing alone was clear 
before her — that she was nearing the abode of 
Francis Bemardone whose preaching at San 
Giorgio only*a month before had thrilled her» 
inspiring her in this strange way to seek the life 
he had described in fiery words. Just as she 
came in sight of the Portiuncula the chanting 
of the brethren, which had reached her in the 
wood, suddenly ceased, and they came out with 
lighted torches in expectation of her cofaiing. 


Giovanni Dupti 
Pagt S66 



Swiftly and without a word she passed in to 
attend the midnight mass which Francis was to 
serve, and the scene is thus described : — 

^^The ceremony was simple, wherein lies the 
charm of all things Franciscan. The service 
over and the last blessing given, St. Francis led 
Clare toward the altar, and with his own hands 
cut off her long, fair hair and unclasped the 
jewels from her neck. But a few minutes more 
and a daughter of the proud house of Scifi 
stood clothed in the brown habit of the 
order, the black veil of religion falling about 
her shoulders, lovelier far in this nun-like 
severity than she had been when decked out 
in all her former luxury of silken gowns and 
precious gems. 

"It was arranged that Clare was to go after- 
ward to the Benedictine nuns of San Paolo, 
near Bastia, about an hour's walk farther on 
in the plain. So when the final vows had been 
taken, St. Francis took her by the hand and 
they passed out of the chapel together just as 
dawn was breaking, while the brethren re- 
turned to their cells gazing half sadly, as they 
passed, at the coils of golden hair and the 



little heap of jewels which still lay upon the 
altar cloth." 

Clara founded a convent and lived as its 
abbess, and the great church of Santa Chiara 
is built on the site of this convent. She was 
bom in Assisi in 1194, and died in 1253, sur- 
viving Francis by twenty-seven years. Her 
father was the Count Favorini Scifi, and he had 
destined his daughter — who had great beauty 
— to a rich and brilliant marriage. He violently 
opposed her choice of the religious life, but no 
earthly power, she declared, should sever her 
from it. 

The beauty of the lifelong friendship between 
Francis and Clara is thus touched upon by 
Mrs. Oliphant: — 

''It was one of those tender and touching 
friendships which are to the student of his- 
tory like green spots in the desert; and which 
gave to the man and the woman thus voluntarily 
separated from all the joys of life a certain 
human consolation in the midst of their hard- 
ships. They can have seen each other but 
seldom, for it was one of the express stipulations 




of the Franciscan Rule that the friars should 
refrain from all society with women, and have 
only the most sparing and reserved intercourse 
even with their sisters in religion. And Francis 
I was no priest, nor had he the privilege of hearing 

confession and directing the spiritual life of 
, his daughter in the faith. But he sent to her to 

[ ask enlightenment from her prayers, when any 

J difficulty was in his way. He went to see her 

Vhen he was in trouble; especially once on his 
way to Rieti to have an operation performed 
on his eyes. Once the two friends ate together 
at a sacramental meal, the pledge and almost 
the conclusion on earth of that tenderest, most 
disinterested, and unworldly love which existed 
between them. That he was sure of her sym- 
pathy in all things, of her prayers and spiritual 
aid, whatsoever he might be doing, whereso- 
ever he might be, no doubt was sweet to Francis 
in all his labors and trials. As he walked many 
a weary day past that church of St. Damian, 
every stone of which was familiar to him, and 
many laid with his own hands, must not his 
heart have warmed at thought of the sister 
within, safe from all conflict with the world, 
upon whose fellow-feeling he could rely abso- 


lutely as man can rely only on woman? The 
world has jeered at the possibility of such friend- 
ships from its earliest age; and yet they have 
always existed, — one of the most exquisite and 
delicate of earthly ties. Gazing back into that 
far distance over the graves, not only of those 
two friends, but of a hundred succeeding gen- 
erations, a tear of grateful sympathy comes into 
the student's eye. He is glad to believe that, 
all those years, Francis could see in his comings 
and goings the cloister of Clara; and that this 
sacred gleam of human f eUowship, — love puri- 
fied of all self-seeking, — tender, visionary, ce- 
lestial affection, sweetened their solitary lives/' 

Legends innumerable, attesting supernormal 
manifestations regarding Francis, sprang up and 
have been perpetuated through the ages. One 
is as follows: — 

''Hardly more than three years from the 
moment when the pale penitent was hooted 
through Assisi amid the derisive shouts of the 
people, and driven with blows and curses into 
confinement in his own father's house, we find 
that it has already become his custom on Sun-- 



day to preach in the cathedral; and that, from 
his little convent at the Portiuncula, Francis 
has risen into influence in the whole country, 
which no doubt by this time was full of stories 
of his visit to Rome and intercourse with the 
Pope, and all the miraculous dreams and 
parables with which that intercourse was at- 
tended. Already the mind of the people, so 
slow to adopt, but so ready to become habitu- 
ated to, anything novel, had used itself to the 
sight of the brethren in their brown gowns, and, 
leaping from one extreme to the other, instead 
of madmen, learned to consider them saints. 
The air about the little cloister began to breathe 
of miracles, — miracles which must have been 
a matter of common report among the con- 
temporaries of the saint, for Celano wrote 
within three years of Francises death. Once, 
when their leader was absent, a sudden wonder 
startled the brethren. It was midnight between 
Saturday and Sunday, and Francis, who had 
gone to preach at Assisi, was at the moment 
praying in the canon's garden. A chariot of 
fire, all radiant and shining, suddenly entered 
the house, awaking those who lay asleep, and 
moving to wonder and awe those who watched, 



or labored, or prayed. It was the heart and 
thoughts of their leader returning to them in 
the midst of his prayer, which were figured by 
this appearance." 

When Francis died a pathetic scene is thus 
described : — 

''All the clergy of Assisi, chanting solemn 
hynms, came out to meet the bier, and thus 
they climbed the hill to the birthplace of tAe 
saint, the city of his toils and tears and blessing. 
When they came to St. Damian an affecting 
pause was made. Clara within, with all her 
maidens, waited the last visit of their father and 
friend. Slowly the triumphant crowd defiled 
into the church of the nuns, hushing, let us 
hope, their songs of joy, their transports of 
gratulations, out of respect to the grief which 
dwelt there, and could scarcely, by all the argu- 
ments of family pride, or the excitement of this 
universal triumph, be brought to rejoice. The 
bier was set down within the chancel, the coffin 
opened, and opened also was the little window 
through which the nuns received the sacrament 
on ordinary occasions. To this little opening 



the pale group of nuns, ten of them, with Clara 
at their head, came marching silently, with 
tears and suppressed cries. Clara herself, even 
in face of that multitude, could not restrain her 
grief. * Father, father, what will become of us ?' 
she cried out; *who will care for us now, or 
console us in our troubles?' * Virgin modesty,' 
says Celano, stopped her lamentations, and with 
a miserable attempt at thanksgiving, reminding 
herself that the angels were rejoicing at his 
coming, and all was gladness on his arrival in 
the city of God, the woman who had been his 
closest friend in this world, whose sympathy 
he had sought so often, kissed the pale hands — 
'splendid hands,' says Celano, in his enthusi- 
asm, * adorned with precious gems and shining 
pearls ' — and disappeared from the little win- 
dow with her tears into the dim convent behind, 
where nobody could reprove her sorrow." 

The personality of Chiara comes down to us 
through the ages invested with untold charm. 
It is said that when she was dying there came 
"a long procession of white-robed virgins, led 
by the Queen of Heaven, whose head was 
crowned with a diadem of shining gold, each of 



the celestial visitors stooped to kiss Chiara as 
her soul passed to its home." 

During all the life of Francis, whenever any 
new movement or work was to be undertakm, 
he invariably sent to ask the counsel and tile 
prayers of Chiara. 

The miraculous preservation of the bodjr ^ 
Santa Chiara is one of the articles of faith. M 
Assisi. In 1850 — six hundred years after her 
death — a tomb believed to be hers was fomd 
and opened in the presence of a distinguished 
group of ecclesiastics, among whom was Cardi- 
nal Pecci, later Pope Leo XIII. In this tomb 
a form is said to have been found, and it has 
been placed in a reliquary of alabaster and 
Carrara marble especially constructed for ft. 
This sanctuary is placed in the church of Santa 
Chiara, in the crypt, behind a glass screen, 
where candles are kept perpetually burning. 
Lina Gordon Duff, writing the history of Assisi, 
says of this curious spectacle : — 

^'As pilgrims stand before a grating in the 
dimly lighted crypt, the gentle rustle of a nun's 
dress is heard; slowly invisible hands draw the 
curtain aside, and the body of Santa Chiara is 


Amalia Dupr£ 
Paga 375 


seen lying in a glass case upon a satin bed^ her 
face clearly outlined against her black and 
white veils, whilst her brown habit is drawn in 
straight folds about her body. She clasps the 
book of her Rule in one hand, and in the other 
holds a lily with small diamonds shining on 
the streamers." 

In all these churches — the great convent 
church, upper and lower, of the Franciscans 
elaborately adorned with frescoes by Cimabue 
and by Giotto; in the ancient Duomo; in Santa 
Chiara and in Santa Maria degli Angeli — 
statues of the two saints, Francis and Chiara, 
are placed side by side. She shares all the 
exaltation of his memory and the fulness of his 

The strange problem of the stigmata has, 
perhaps, never been absolutely solved. Canon 
Knox Little says that as to the miracles of St. 
Francis generally speaking, there is no intrinsic 
improbability; that ^^his holy life, his constant 
conmiunion with God, the abundant bless- 
ings with which it pleased God to mark his 
ministry, all point in the same direction." Lat- 
ter-day revelations of psychic science disclose 



contemporaiy facts of the power of mental in- 
fluence on the physical form that are, in many 
instances, hardly less wonderful than this 
alleged miracle of St. Francis. Whether the 
stoiy is accepted literally or only in a figurative 
sense does not affect the transcendent power 
of his influence. His entire life and work illus- 
trate the beauty of holiness. "Art in its widest 
sense gained a marvellous impulse from his 
work and effort," says Canon Knox Little. 
The French and Proven9al literature and the 
schools of Byzantine art preceded the life of 
Francis; but his influence imparted a powerful 
wave of sympathetic and vital insight and awak- 
ened a world of new sensibilities of feeling. 
Indeed, it is a proverb of Italy, "Without 
Francis, no Dante." Certainly the life of Fran- 
cis was the inspiration of the early Italian 
art. Cimabue and Giotto drew from the in- 
spiration of that unique and lovely life the 
pictorial conceptions that have made Assisi the 
cradle of Italian painting. The great works of 
Giotto are in the lower church of the Francis- 
can monastery. One of these frescoes repre- 
sents chastity as a maiden kneeling in a shrine, 
while angels bring to her branches of palm. 



Obedience is depicted as placing a yoke upon 
the bowed figure of a priest, while St. Francis, 
attended by two angels, looks on; Poverty, 
whom Francis declared to be his bride, is pic- 
tured as accompanied by Hope and Charity, 
who give her in marriage to St. Francis, the 
union being blessed by Christ, while the 
heavenly Father and throngs of angels gaze 
through the clouds on this nuptial scene. The 
fresco called Gloriosus Franciscus is perhaps 
the crowning work of Giotto. Francis is seen 
in a beatitude of glory, with a richly decorated 
banner bearing the cross and seven stars float- 
ing above his head and bands of angels in the 
air surrounding him. Canon Knox Little, al- 
luding to these interesting works of Giotto, says 
that "even in their faded glories they give an 
immense interest to the lower church of Assisi. 
No one can look at them now unmoved, or 
wander on the hillside to the west of the little 
city, with the rugged rocks above one's head, and 
beneath one's feet the rich carpets of cyclamen, 
and before one's eyes long dreamy stretches of 
the landscape of Umbria, without being touched 
by the feeling of that beautiful and loving life 
devoted to God and man and nature, in utter 



truth, which therefore kft such an impress on 
Christian art." 

The Madonna and saints painted by Cima- 
bue are faded almost to the point of obliteration, 
yet there still lingers about them a certain grace 
and charm. The visitor to this Franciscan 
monastery church realizes that he is beholding 
the art which was the very pledge and prophe<y 
of the Renaissance, and he realizes, too, that 
the Renaissance itself was the outgrowth of 
the new vitality communicated to the world by 
the life and character of St. Francis. He gave 
to the world the realization of the living Christ; 
he taught that religion was in action, not in 
theology. He liberated the spirit; and when 
this colossal church was being built (1228-53) 
the artists who had felt the new thrill of life 
opened by his teaching hastened to Assisi to 
express their appreciation by their pictorial 
work on its walls. The qualities of spiritual life 
— faith, sacrifice, sympathy, and love — began, 
for the first time, to be interpreted into artistic 

The tomb of St. Francis is in the crypt of the 
church. The stone sarcophagus containing his 
body was discovered in 1818, and then placed 



here in a little chamber especially prepared, 
surrounded by an iron latticework with candles 
perpetually burning. 

From the sacristy of the lower church, stairs 
ascend to the upper, with its beautiful nave 
and transept with a high altar, and the choir 
stalls. While the lower church with its great 
arches is always dark, the upper is flooded with 
light from vast windows. There is a series of 
frescoed panels on either side, accredited to 
pupils of Giotto, full of forcible action and 
a glow of color. But the upper church, while 
it is magnificent, lacks somewhat of that mystic 
atmosphere one is so swiftly conscious of in 
the gloom and mystery of the lower church. 

Stretching behind the churches, along the 
' crest of the high hill, is the colossal monastery 
itself, with that double row of arches and colon- 
nades that makes it so conspicuous a feature of 
all the Umbrian valley. Formerly hundreds of 
monks dwelt here; but the Italian government 
suppressed this monastery in 1866, and since 
that time it has been used as a school for boys. 

The ancient Duomo, whose fa9ade is of the 
twelfth century, has three exquisite rose win- 
dows, and on either side, as one approaches 



the high altar, stand the statues of St. Francis 
and of Santa Chiara. In the little piazza in 
front of the church is a bronze copy of Dupre's 
famous statue of St. Francis. 

The colossal church of Santa Maria degli 
Angeli, with its magnificent dome, is a contrast, 
indeed, to the primitive little Portiuncula where 
Francis knelt in prayer, and which is now pre- 
served in the centre of this vast cathedral, — 
the rude structure encased in marble, and 
decorated, above the entrance, with a picture 
by Overbeck, whose motive is St. Francis as he 
stands, hushed and reverent^ listening to the 
voice that tells him to embrace poverty. There 
is a fine Perugino in the church, representing 
the Saviour. The cell in which St. Francis 
died, enclosed in the little chapel which St. 
Bonaventuri built over it, is preserved in this 
great cathedral. 

"And who was he that opened that door 
in heaven?" questions Canon Knox Little in 
reference to St. Francis. **Who was he that 
gave that fresh life and thought ? Who but the 
man who had brought down in his own person 
the living Christ into his century, who had 
taught men again the love of God, and then the 



love of man and the love of nature; who had 
lifted the people out of their misery and degra- 
dation, and awakened the church out of its 
stiffness and worldliness; it was he, too, who 
inspired, who may at most be said to have 
created, Italian art, — the great St. Francis ! 
Such are the deep, such are the penetrating, 
such are the far-reaching effects of sanctity. 
If a soul is, by divine grace, given wholly to 
God, it is impossible for us to say to what 
heights it may attain, or what good, in every 
region of human effort, it may do.** 

Perugia, the neighboring city only fifteen miles 
from Assisi, is the metropolis of all this Umbrian 
region. Like Assisi, it is a ^^hill town," built 
on an acropolis of rock, its foundations laid by 
the Etruscans more than three thousand years 
before the Christian era, and its atmosphere is 
freighted with the records of artists and scholars. 
The Perugians were the forerunners. They 
held the secret of artifice in metals and gems; 
they were architects and sculptors. The only 
traces of their painting that have come down 
to us are their works on sarcophagi, on vases 
or funeral urns, — traces that indicate their gifts 
for line and form. It was about 310 B.C. that 



all Umbria became a Roman province. The 
colossal porta of Augustus — a gateway appar- 
ently designed for the Cyclops — still retains its 
inscription, "Augustus Perusia." The imper- 
ishable impress of the great Roman conqueror 
is still seen in many places. Perugia was a firm 
citadel, as is attested by the fact that Totila and 
his army of Goths spent seven years in besieg- 
ing it. The centuries from the thirteenth to 
the fifteenth inclusive, when it was under the 
sway of the Guelphs and the Ghibellines, were 
years of tragic violence. Even the cathedral 
became the scene of riot, and its interior was 
entirely washed with wine, and it was recon- 
secrated before it could be again used for holy 
offices. The httle piazza in front of the 
cathedral, now dreaming in the sun, has been 
the scene of strange and contrasting crises of 
life. Strife and warfare have desolated it; the 
footsteps of Bernardino of Siena have conse- 
crated it, as he passed within the great portals 
to preach the gospel of peace. He was one of 
the most potent of the Francescan disciples, 
and Bernardino (bom of the noble family of 
the Albizzeschi, in 1380, in Siena, the year 
after St. Catherine's death) for forty years 



wandered over Italy, preaching peace and 
repentance. Vespasiano da Bisticci, a con- 
temporary historian, records that Bernardino 
^^ converted and changed the minds and spirits 
of men marvellously and had a wondrous power 
m persuading men to lay aside their mortal 
hatreds." Bernardino died at the age of sixty- 
four in Aquila, and the towns in which he had 
faithfully carried on his apostolic work placed 
the sacred sign of the divine name (I.H.S.) 
upon their gates and palaces, in his memory. 
In the Sienese gallery is a portrait of San Ber- 
nardino by Sano, painted in 1460, representing 
the saint as the champion of the Holy Name, 
with the inscription, "I have manifested Thy 
name to men." In one of his impressive and 
wonderful sermons San Bernardino said : — 

''There still remain many places for us to 
make. Ah! for the love of God, love one 
another. Alas! see you not that, if you love 
the destruction one of the other you are ruining 
your very selves? Ah! put this thing right for 
the love of God. Love one another! What I 
have done to make peace among you and to 
make you like brothers, I have done with that 



zeal I should wish my own soul to receive. I 
have done it all to the glory of God. And let 
no one think that I have set myself to do any- 
thing at any person's request. I am only moved 
by the bidding of God for His honor and glory/* 

Opposite the Duomo of Perugia, on the other 
side of the piazza, is the Palazzo Municipio, 
with a Gothic fa9ade, a beautiful example of 
thirteenth-century architecture. Here also is 
the colossal fountain with three basins, deco- 
rated with pictorial designs from the Bible by 
Niccolo Pisano and Amolfo of Florence, and 
in the shadow of this fountain St. Dominic, St. 
Francis, and St. Bernardino often met and held 

Perugia easily reads her title clear to artistic 
immortality in having been the home of Peru- 
gino, the master of Raphael. Here he lived 
for several years working with Pinturicchio in 
the frescoes that adorn the CoUegio del Cambio, 
now held as a priceless treasure hall of art. 
They still glow with rich coloring, — the Christ 
seen on the Mount of Transfiguration; the 
Mother and Child with the adoring magi; and 
the chariot of the dawn driven by Apollo a 



century before Guido painted his "Aurora" in 
the Palazzo Rospigliosa in Rome. 

From the parapets of Perugia are views of 
supreme poetic beauty. The play of light and 
color on the picturesque hills and mountains 
of the Umbrian country; the gray-green gleam 
of olive orchards and the silver threads of wind- 
ing strean^is; the towers and ruins and castles 
of a dozen towns and villages that crown the 
slopes, and the violet shadows of deepening 
twilight, with Assisi bathed in a splendor of 
rose and gold, — all combine to make this an 
ever-changing panorama for the poet and 

No journey in Italy is quite like that to the 
lovely Umbrian valley and its Jerusalem, Assisi, 
the shrine which, with the single exception of 
Rome, is the special place of pilgrimage for the 
entire religious world. Perugia offers the charm 
of art, and attracts the visitor, also, by an ex- 
ceptional degree of modem comfort and con- 
venience; but Assisi is the shrine before which 
he kneels, where the footsteps of saints who 
have knelt in prayer make holy ground, and 
where he realizes anew the consecration of faith 
and sacrifice. The very air is filled with divine 



messages, and in lowly listening he will hear, 
again, those wonderful and thrilling words of 
St. Francis: — 

"By the holy love which is in God I pray all 
to put aside every obstacle, every care, every 
anxiety, that they may be able to consecrate 
themselves entirely to serve, love, and honor the 
Lord God, with a pure heart and a sincere pur- 
pose, which is what He asks above all things/* 

WhUe fhaniom eUy, fohMe uniroddm dreeU 
Are rivers^ and whose pavements are the shifting 
Shadows of palaees and strips of sky; 
I wait to see thee vanish like the fleets J 

Seen in mirage, or towers of clouds upHfting j 

In air their vnsubstantial masonry. ] 


Fair as t^ palace huUded for Aladdin, 

Yonder St. Mark uplifts its sculptured splendor — ] 

Intricate fretwork, Byzantine mosaic. 

Color on color, column upon column, 

Bafhafie, wonderftd, a thing to kneel tot 

Over the portal stand the four giU horses, 

out hoof in air, and wide distended nostrU, 

Fiery, untamed, as in the days of Nero. 

Skyward, a doud of domes and spires and crosses; 

Earthward, Uaek shadows flung from jutting stonework. 

Bigh over all the dender Campanile 

rs, and seems a falling shaft of silver, 

Thomas Baiuet Aldbich. 

Ai one who parts from Life's famiUar shore^ 
Looks his last look in long-hdovei eyes^ 
And sees in their dear depths new meanings 

And strange light shine he never knew before; 

As then he fain tootdd snatch from Death his hasid 
And linger stiU^ if haply f^e may see 
A little more of this SouTs mystery 

Which year by year he seemed to understand; 

Sot Venice, when thy wondrous beauty grew 
Dim in the cUmds which ddthed the vnntry sea 

I saw thou wert more beauteous than I knew. 
And long to turn and be again with thee. 

But what I could not then I trust to see 

In that next life which we call memory. 

Philufb Bboou.^ 

^Fram "life of Fhimps Brooki," bgr kind penainon of Mevn. 
E. P. DuttOD & Co. 



I have been between Heaven and Earth sinoe oar tmval at Venice. 
The Heaven of it is ine£fable — never had I touched the skirts of so 
celestial a place. The beauty of the architecture, the sQver trails of 
water up between all that gorgeous color and carving, the enchanting 
silence, the music, the gondolas, — I mix it all up together, and main- 
tain that nothing is like it, nothing equal to it, no second Venice in the 

Mbb. BsowNiMOk in the June of ISBO. 

The first glimpse of enchanted Venice, as her 
towers and marble palaces rise wraith-like from 
the sea, is an experience that can never fade 
from memory. Like a mirage, like a vision 
invoked by some incantation or magician's spell, 
the scene prefigures itself, bringing a thrill of 
some vague and undefined memory, as if a 
breath floated by, — 

'*An odor from Dreamland sent. 
That makes the ghost seem nigh me. 

Of a splendor that came and went; 
Of a life lived somewhere, — I know not 

In what diviner sphere, — 
Of memories that stay not and go not»'' 


which eludes all translation into words. Nor 
does the spell dissolve and vanish when put to 
the test of one's actual sojourn in the Dream 
City. It is an experience outside the bound- 
aries of the ordinary day and daylight world, 
as if one were caught up into the ethereal realm 
to find a city 

"... of ^ding and wide-wayed silenoe 
With room in the streets tat the soul." 

The sense of remoteness from conunon life 
could hardly be greater if one were suddenly 
swept away to some far star, blazing in the 
firmament; or if Charon had rowed him over 
the mystic river and he had entered the 
abodes of life on the plane beyond. Even the 
hotel becomes an enchanted palace whose 
salons, luxuriously decorated, open by long 
windows on marble balconies overhanging the 
Grand Canal. Dainty little tables piled with 
current reading matter, in French, English, 
and Italian, stand around; the writing-desks are 
sumptuous, filled with every convenience of 
stationery; and the matutinal coffee and rolls 
are served the guest in any idyllic niche wherein 
he chooses to ensconce himself, regardless of 



the regulation saUe-brmanger. One looks across 
the Grand Canal to the beautiful Church of 
Santa Maria della Salute. The water plashes 
against the marble steps as gondolas glide past; 
the blue sky of Italy reflects itself in the waters 
below, until one feels as if he were floating in 
the air between sea and sky. In the heart of 
the city, with throngs of people moving to and 
fro, all is yet silence, save the cry of the gon- 
dolier, the confused echo of voices from the 
people who pass, and here and there the faint 
call of a bird. No whir and rush of electric 
cars and motors; no click of the horses' feet on 
the asphalt pavement — no pavement, indeed, 
and no horses, no twentieth-century rush of life. 
It is Venice, it is June, and the two combine 
to make an illuminated chapter. To live in 
Venice is like being domesticated in the heart 
of an opal. How wonderful it is to drift — a 
sky above and a sky below — on still waters at 
sunset, with the Dream City mirrored in the 
depths, every shade of gold and rose and amber 
mirrored back, — the very atmosphere a sea of 
color, recalling to 'one Ruskin's words that "none 
of us appreciate the nobleness and the sacred- 
ness of color. Of all God's gifts to man," he 



continues, ''color is the holiest, the most divine, 
the most solemn. Color is the sacred and say- 
ing element/' If the enthusiasm in these words 
savor of exaggeration, Venice is the place that 
will lure one to forgetfulness of it. One is 
simply conscious of being steeped in color and 
revelling in a strange loveliness. One no longer 
marvels at the gloiy of Tintoretto and Paolo 
Veronese. They but interpreted on canvas the 
shining reality. A charming writer on Venice 
has well said: — 

**The aspects of Venice are as various, as 
manifold, as the hues held in solution upon her 
waters beneath a sirocco sky. There is a per- 
petual miracle of change; one day is not like 
another, one hour varies from the next; there 
is no stable outline such as one finds among 
the mountains, no permanent vista, as in a 
view across a plain. The two great constitu- 
ents of the Venetian landscape, the sea and the 
sky, are precisely the two features in nature 
which undergo most incessant change. The 
cloud- wreaths of this evening's sunset will never 
be repeated again ; the bold and buttressed piles 
of those cloud-mountains will never be built 



again just so for us; the grain of orange and 
crimson that stains the water before our prow, 
we cannot be sure that we shall look upon its 
like again. . • . One day is less like another in 
Venice than anywhere else. The revolution of 
the seasons will repeat certain effects ; spring will 
chill the waters to a cold, hard green; summer 
will spread its breadth of golden light on palace 
front and water way; autumn will come with its 
pearly-gray sirocco days, and sunsets flaming 
a sombre death ; the stars of a cloudless winter 
night, the whole vast dome of heaven, will 
be reflected in the mirror of the still lagoon. 
But in spite of this general order of the sea- 
sons, one day is less like another in Venice than 
anywhere else; the lagoon wears a different 
aspect each morning when you rise, the sky 
offers a varied composition of cloud each even- 
ing as the sun sets. Words cannot describe 
Venice, nor brush portray her ever-fleeting, 
ever-varying charm. Venice is to be felt, not 
reproduced; to live there is to live a poem, 
to be daily surfeited with a wealth of beauty 
enough to madden an artist to despair." 

It was in the autumn of 1882 that the Rev. 



Dr. Phillips Brooks, later Bishop of Massachu- 
setts, visited Venice and wrote of San Marco : — 

'^ Strange how there is nothing like St. Mark's 
in Venice, nothing of the same kind as the great 
church. It would have seemed as if, standing 
here for so many centuries, and always pro- 
foundly loved and honored, it would almost of 
necessity have influenced the minds of the gen- 
erations of architects, and shown its power in 
their works. But there seems to be no sign of 
any such influence. It stands alone." 

Dr. Brooks noted that Venice had "two 
aspects, one sensuous and self-indulgent, the 
other lofty, spiritual, and even severe. Both 
aspects," he continues, "are in its history and 
both are also in its art. Titian often represents 
the former. The loftier, nobler Tintoretto gives 
us the second. There is something in his great- 
est pictures, as, for instance, in the Crucifixion^ 
at St. Rocco, which no other artist approaches. 
The lordly composition gives us an impression 
of intellectual grasp and vigor. The foreground 
group of prostrate women is full of a tenderness. 
The rich pearly light, which floods the centre, 



glows with a solemn picturesqueness, and the 
great Christ, who hangs like a benediction over 
the whole, is vocal with a piety which no other 
picture in the world displays. And the Presen- 
tation of the Virgin, in Santa Maria dell' Orto, 
is the consummate presentation of that beauti- 
ful subject, its beauty not lost in its majesty." 
Of other pictures Dr. Brooks said : — 

''In the Academia there is the sunshine of 
three hundred years ago. Paris Bordone's 
glowing picture of the Fisherman who brings 
the Ring of St. Mark to the Doge, burned like 
a ray of sunlight on the wall. Carpaccio's 
delightful story of St. Ursula brought the old 
false standards of other days back to one's mind, 
but brought them back lustrous with the splen- 
dor of summers that seemed forever passed, but 
are perpetually here. Tintoretto's Adam and 
Eve was, as it always is, the most delightful 
picture in the gallery, and Pordenone's great 
St. Augustine seemed a very presence in the 
vast illuminated room." 

Tennyson loved best, of all the pictures in 
Venice, a Bellini, — a beautiful work, in the 



Church of II Redentoie; and he was deeply 
impressed by the "Presentation of the Virgin/' 
from Tintoretto, in the Church of the Madonna 
dell' Orto, " He was fascinated by St. Mark's," 
writes the poet's son, "by the Doge*s Palace 
and the Piazza, and by the blaze of color in 
water and sky. He climbed the Campanile, 
and walked to the library where he could 
scarcely tear himself away from the Grimani 

Venice, though not containing any single 
gallery comparable with the Pitti and the 
Uffizi, is still singularly rich in treasures of art, 
and rich in legend and story. The school of 
encrusted architecture is nowhere so wonder- 
fully represented as here, and it is only in this 
architecture that a perfect scheme of color deco- 
ration is possible. In all the world there is no 
such example of encrusted architecture as that 
revealed in St. Mark's. It is a gleaming mass 
of gold, opal, ruby, and pearl; with alabaster 
pillars carved in designs of palm and pome- 
granate and lily; with legions of sculptured 
angels looking down; with altars of gold ablaze 
with scarlet flowers and snowy lilies, while 
clouds of mystic incense fill the air. One most 



impressive place is the baptistery, where is the 
tomb of St. Mark and also that of the Doge 
Andrea Dandolo, who died at the age of forty- 
six, having been chosen Doge ten years before. 
His tomb is under a window in the baptistery, 
and the design is that of his statue in bronze, 
lying on a couch, while two angels at the head 
and the feet hold back the curtains. 

The sarcophagus that is said to contain the 
body of St. Mark is of the richest description, en- 
crusted with gold and jewels on polished ebony 
and marble. There is a legend that after St. 
Mark had seen the people of Aguilia well 
grounded in religion he was called to Rome by 
St. Peter; but before setting oflF he took with 
him in a boat the holy Bishop Hennagoras and 
sailed to the marshes of Venice. The boat was 
driven by wind to a small island called Rialto, 
on which were some houses, and St. Mark was 
suddenly snatched into ecstasy and heard the 
voice of an angel saying, "Peace be to thee, 
Mark; here shall thy body rest.'* 

There is also a legend that in the great con- 
flagration which destroyed Venice in 976 A.D., 
the body of St. Mark was lost and no one knew 
where to find it. Then the pious Doge and the 



people gave themselves to fasting and prayer, 
and assembled in the church, asking that the 
place be revealed them. It was on the 25th 
of June that the assemblage took place. Sud- 
denly one of the pillars of the church trembled, 
and opened to disclose the sarcophagus, — a 
chest of bronze. The legend goes on to say 
that St. Mark stretched his hand out through the 
side and that a noble, Dolfini by name, drew a 
gold ring off the finger. 

The place where this miracle is said to have 
been wrought is now marked by the Altar of 
the Cross. 

Ruskin declares that "a complete under- 
standing of the sanctity of color is the key to 
European art.** Nowhere is this sanctity of 
color so felt as at San Marco. The church is 
like the temple of the New Jerusalem. 

The origin of Venice is steeped in sacred his- 
tory. It is pre-eminently the city founded in 
religious enthusiasm. The chronicles of De 
Monici, written in 421, give this passage: "Grod, 
who punishes the sios of men by war, sorrow, 
and whose ways are past finding out, willing 
both to save the innocent blood, and that a 
great power, beneficial to the whole world, 



should arise in a place strange beyond belief, 
moved the chief men of the cities of the Vene- 
tian province both in memory of the past, and 
in dread of future distress, to establish states 
upon the nearer islands of the Adriatic, to which, 
in the last extremity, they might retreat for 
refuge. . • • They laid the foundation of the 
new city under good auspices on the island of 
the Rialto, the highest and nearest to the mouth 
of the Brenta, on March 25, 471." 

The first Doge of Venice was Paolo Lucio 
Anopeste, elected by the tribunal of com- 
monalty, tribunals, and clergy, at Heraclea, in 
697. The period of the subjection of the 
ecclesiastical to the ducal and patrician powers 
followed. The "Council of Ten" was estab- 
lished in 1335, and the last Doge elected was 
Lodovico Manin in 1789, who exclaimed, " ToU 
questo: no la doperh piii,*^ as the French Revo- 
lution destroyed the Republic of Venice. 

The finest example of Renaissance architec- 
ture in Venice is that of the Libreria Vecchiay 
the work of Jacobo Sansovino, completed in 
the sixteenth century. Never were the creations 
of poet and philosopher more fittingly enshrined. 
The rich Doric frieze, the Ionic columns, the 


stately balustrade, with statues and obelisks, 
the resplendent richness of ornamentation, offer 
a majesty and beauty seldom found even in the 
best classical architecture of Europe. On the 
ceiling of one sala is a picture by Titian rej^e- 
senting '^Wisdom'' as a woman, reclining on a 
cloud, her right hand outstretched to take a 
book that Genius is offering her. There are 
two beautiful caryatides by Vittoria and rich 
mural work by Battesta Franco and De More. 

Petrarca, returning from his wanderings in 
1S62, pleaded with the Senate of Venezia 
to give him a house, in return for which he 
offered the inheritance of his library. This was 
the nucleus of the fine collection which since 
1812 has been included in the Palace of the 
Doges. In it are some magnificent works by 
Paolo Veronese, one portrait by Tintoretto, and 
others by Salviati and Telotti. 

The Doge's Palace is a treasure house of his- 
tory. One enters the Porta delta Carta, which 
dates back to 16S8, erected by Bartolomeo 
Buon. The portal is very rich in sculpture, 
and among the reliefs is a heroic one of Fran- 
cesco Foscari, kneeling before the lion at St. 
Mark's. One recalls his tragic fate and passes 



on. Perhaps, en pdsaantj one may say that his 
pilgrimage through Venice and Florence is so 
constantly in the scenes of tragedy that he is 
prone to sink almost into utter sadness, even, 
rather than seriousness. The air is full of 
ghosts. One feels the oppression of all the life 
that has there been lived, all the tragedies that 
have been enacted in these scenes. 

In Renaissance nothing more wonderful in 
Europe can be found than the court of the 
Palace of the Doges. Antonio Rizzo began the 
east fa9ade of the building in 1480, and it was 
continued by Lombardo, and completed by 
Scarpagnino. "Words cannot be found to 
praise the beauty of these sculptures," says Sal- 
vatico, "as well as of the single ornaments of 
the walls and of the ogres which have been 
carved so delicately and richly that they cannot 
be excelled by the Roman antique friezes." 

By the golden staircase one goes to the council 
chambers, — the hall of the Senate, the Council 
of Ten, and the Council of Three. In the great 
council chamber is that most celebrated mural 
painting in the world, "The Glory of Venice," 
by Paolo Veronese, which covers the ceiling. In 
a frieze are the portraits of seventy-six of the 



Doges, but in one space is a black tablet only, 
with the inscription: "This in place of M. F., 
who was executed for his crimes." 

The ''Sala del Maggior ConsigUo" (haU of 
the grand council) is very rich in paintings. 
Above the throne is Tintoretto's "The Gloiy of 
Paradise," and the walls are covered with battle 
pieces and symbolic and allegorical paintings. 
There is "Venice Crowned by Fame," by Paolo 
Veronese, "Doge Niccol6 da Ponte Presenting 
the Senate and Envoys of Conquered Cities 
to Venice," by Tintoretto; "Venice Crowned by 
the Goddess of Victory," by Palma Giovane, 
and many another of the richest and most won- 
derful beauty. 

Descending into the prisons and dungeons 
brings one into a vivid realization of the grim 
history of which these were the scenes. The 
Bridge of Sighs has two covered passages, one 
for the political and one for the criminal pris- 
oners. Here is shown a narrow ledge on which 
the condenmed man stood, with a slanting stone 
passageway before him, which, when the guillo- 
tine had done its swift and deadly work, con- 
veyed the crimson flood into the dark waters 
of the canal below, while the body was thrown 



i in the water on the other side. There are the 
S " Chambers of Lead," where prisoners were con- 
fined, intensely hot in the summer, and as 
i intensely cold in the winter. Many of these 
t dark, close, narrow cells — in which the one 
I article of furniture allowed was the wooden 
g slanting rack, that served as a bed — still re- 
H main. In many of these are inscriptions that 
J were written by the prisoners. One reads (in 
i translation): ^'May Grod protect me against him 
[r whom I trust; I will protect myself against him 
whom I do not trust.** 
The murderer, Giovanni M. Bomi, wrote in 
f- his cell: "G. M. B. was confined very unjustly 
in this prison; if God does not help it will be 
^ the last desolation of a poor, numerous, and 

f honest family.*' 

[ All visitors to these gloomy dungeons recall 

J the lines of Byron: — 

I stood in Venioe on the Bridge of Sight, 
A palace and a prison on each hand." 


\ . The piazza of St. Mark's is a distinctive 

feature, even in all Europe. It is not large; it 

( is surrounded on three sides with shops, which 

I are merely glittering bazaars of jewels and bric-a- 



brae; the sidewalk is blockaded with caf& a/ 
frescOy the ground is half covered with the dense 
flocks of white doves, but here all lingers and 
loiters. The fa9ade of St. Mark's fills one end 
— a mass of gleaming color. At one comer 
is the tall clock tower (Torre dell* Orologio) 
in the Renaissance style of 1400, crowned with 
the gilded lion of St. Mark. On the festa days 
three figures, the Three Wise Men, preceded 
by an angel, come forth on the tower and bow 
before the Madonna, in a niche above, — a very 
ingenious piece of mechanism. With its rich 
architecture and sculptures and masses of color, 
the piazza of San Marco is really an open-air 
hall, where all the town congregates from morn- 
ing till midnight. 

To study the art of the Venetian school is a 
work of months, and one that would richly 
repay the student. The churches and galleries 
of Venice give a truly unique opportunity. In 
the Church of San Sebastiano lies Paolo Vero- 
nese, the church in which he painted his cele- 
brated frescoes, now transformed into a temple 
for himself. Here one finds his ** Coronation 
of the Virgin," "The Virgin in the Gloria,'* 
''Adoration of the Magi,'' ''Martyrdom of San 



Sebastian/' and many others. In the Scuola 
di San Rocco are the great works of Tintoretto, 
**St. Magdalene in the Wilderness," the "Visita- 
tion,** and the "Murder of the Innocents." 

In the San Maria dei Frari is the tomb of 
Titian, — an exquisite grouping' of sculpture in 
Carrara marble, erected in 1878-80 by the com- 
mand of the Emperor of Austria, the work of 
Zandomenighi. In this church is Titian's most 
famous painting, the " Madonna of the Pessaro," 
the work of which is probably, too, the greatest 
in all Venetian art. The Hall of Heaven is 
shown, supported by colossal colunms. St. 
Peter, Maucis, and Antoninus are commending 
the Pessaro family to the Virgin, who is en- 
throned on high. The beauty of line, the splen- 
dor of color, and the marvellous composition 
render this immortal masterpiece something 
whose sight marks an epoch in life. Canova's 
tomb in San Maria dei Frari is a wonderful 
thing. It is a pyramid of purest marble, with 
a door opening for the sarcophagus, above which 
is a portrait of Canova in relief, and on either 
side the door angels and symbolic figures are 

The Church of Santa Maria della Salute, to 



which one is always returning, is a wonderful 
example of artistic architecture, as its snowy 
towers and dome seem to rise out of the water 
and float in the air. 

The fall of the Campanile in 1904 was re- 
garded as a calamity by all the civilized world. 
For a thousand years it had stood at the side of 
St. Mark's; but the disaster aroused the atten- 
tion of experts to the condition of the great 
cathedral itself, and it was found that the vast 
area of over fifty thousand square feet of match- 
less mosaic needed restoration in order that 
they should be preserved. 

The Palazzo Rezzonico, which dates to Clem- 
ent XIII, usually known as the "Browning 
Palace," has been for many years one of the 
special interests to the visitor in Venice. In 
the early months of 1907 it passed out of the 
hands of Robert Barrett Browning, who had 
purchased it in 1888, and had held it sacredly, 
with its poetic and personal associations, since 
the death of his father, the poet, in 1889. To 
Mr. Barrett Browning is due the grateful appre- 
ciation of a multitude of tourists for his gen- 
erous and never-failing courtesy in permitting 
them the privilege of visiting this palace in 



which his father had passed many months of 
enjoyment. It was from this residence that 
the poet Browning wrote, in October of 1880, 
to a friend: — 

"Every morning at six I see the sun rise; far 
more wonderfully, to my mind, than his famous 
setting which everybody glorifies. My bed- 
room window commands a perfect view; the 
still, gray lagune, the few sea-gulls flying, the 
islet of San Giorgio in deep shadow and the 
clouds in a long purple rock behind which a 
sort of spirit of rose bums up till presently all 
the rims are on fire with gold, and last of all 
the orb sends before it a long column of its 
own essence apparently; so my day begins.'* 

Later, of his son's palace, Mr. Browning 
wrote : — 

"Have I told you that there is a chapel which 
he has restored in honor of his mother — put- 
ting up there the inscription by Tommaseo,^ 
now above Casa Guidi in Florence ? " 

1 Tliis inscription and a description in detail of all the memoriab of 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning aie giTcn in full in a Tohmie entitled ''A 
Study of Elizabeth Barrett Browning.'* Boston: little. Brown, & Co. 



Id this palace Mr. Browning wrote some of 
later poems, and it may well be that it was 
when he was dad in his singing robes that he 
perhaps most deeply felt the ineffable charm of 
Venice: — 


For the stars help ine» and flie sea bean part; 

The yerj night is dinging 
Closer to Venice' streets to kaTe one space 

Above me. 

It was from these lofty salons in the Brown- 
ing Palace that the poet passed to the '^life 
more abundant" on that December day of 
1889, on the very day that his last volume, 
**Asolando," was published and also the last 
volume of Tennyson's. Regarding these Mr. 
Gladstone said, in a letter to Lord Tennyson: 
"The death of Browning on the day of the 
appearance of your volume, and we hear of 
one of his own, is a touching event.*' 

From the time of Mrs. Browning's death in 
Florence (in June of 1861) Mr. Browning never 
felt that he could see Italy again, until the 
autumn of 1878, when he, with his sister, Miss 
Sarianna Browning, came to Venice by way 
of the Italian lakes and Verona. At this time 



they only remained for a fortnight, domiciled 
in the old Palazzo Brandolin-Rota, which was 
transformed into the Albergo dell' Universo. 
This palace was on the Grand Canal below 
the Accademia, and here he returned through 
two or three subsequent years. Mr, Browning 
became very fond of Venice, and he explored 
its winding ways and gardens and knew it, 
not merely from the gondola view, but from 
the point of view of the curious little dark 
and narrow byways, the bridges, and the 

It was in 1880 that Mr. Browning first met, 
through the kind offices of Mr. Story, a most 
charming and notable American lady, Mrs. 
Arthur Bronson (Katherine DeKay), who had 
domiciled herself in Casa Alvisi, an old palace 
on the Grand Canal .opposite the Church of 
Santa Maria della Salute. She was a woman 
of very interesting personality, and had drawn 
about her a circle including many of the most 
distinguished people of her time, authors, art- 
ists, poets, and notable figures in the social world. 
She was eminently aimpaiica and her lovely im- 
pulses of generous kindness were rendered pos- 
sible to translate into the world of the actual by 



the freedom which a large fortune confers on 
its possessor. Between Mrs. Bronson and Mr. 
Browning there sprang up one of those rare 
and beautiful friendships that lasted during his 
lifetime, and to her appreciation and many 
courtesies he owed much of the happiness of 
his later years. In the autunm of 1880 Mrs. 
Bronson made Mr. Browning and his sister her 
guests, placing at their disposal a suite of rooms 
in the Palazzo Giustiniani Recanati — a palace 
adjoining her own — and each night they dined 
and passed the evening with her, with music 
and conversation to enchant the hours. After 
Mr. Browning's death, Mrs. Bronson was the 
friend whom all pilgrims to his shrine in Venice 
felt it a special privilege to meet and to hear 
speak of him. In her palace was a large easy- 
chair, with a ribbon tied across the arms, in 
which Browning was accustomed to sit, and 
which was held sacred to him. Mrs. Bronson 
was an accomplished linguist, and the habitues 
of her salon represented many nationalities. 
Among these was the Princess Montenegro, the 
mother of the present Queen of Italy. 

It is little wonder that the Browning Palace 
was for so many years a focus for all who 



revered and loved the wedded poets, Robert and 
Elizabeth Barrett Browning. 

In the marble court, roofed only by the blue 
Venetian sky, stood Mr. Barrett Browning's 
statue of **Dryope" in bronze, on its marble 
pedestal, — a beautiful conception of the Dry- 
ope of Keats, — the dweller in forest solitudes 
whom the Hamadryads transformed into a 
poplar. Here a fountain makes music all day 
long, and the court is also adorned in summer 
by great Venetian jars of pink hydrangeas in 
full bloom. The grand staircase, with its carved 
balustrade and the wide landing where a rose 
window decorates the wall, leads to the lofty 
salons which were yet as homelike as they were 
artistic during the residence of the Brownings. 
Mr. Story's bust of Mrs. Browning, other por- 
trait busts of both the poets, sculptured by 
their artist son, and by others, and other me- 
morials abound. In the library were gathered 
many interesting volumes, autographed from 
their authors, and many rare and choice edi- 
tions, among which was one of the "'Sonnets 
from the Portuguese" in a sumptuous volume 
whose artistic beauty found a fitting setting to 
Mrs. Browning's immortal sonnets. Among 



other volumes were a collection of signed 
"Etchings** by Sir Laurence Alma-Tadema; 
presentation copies from Tennyson, Matthew 
Arnold, Aubrey De Vere, Walter Savage Landor, 
and many another known to fame; and a copy, 
also, of a study of Mrs. Browning's poetry^ by 
an American writer. 

There is one memento over which the visitor 
always smiled — a souvenir of a London even- 
ing in 1855 when the Brownings had invited 
Dante Gabriel Rossetti and his brother and 
Lord Madox Brown to meet Tennyson and 
listen to his reading of his new poem, "Maud," 
then still unpublished. During the reading Ros- 
setti drew a caricature representing Tennyson 
with his hair standing on end, his eyes glower- 
ing and his hand theatrically extended, as he 
held a manuscript inscribed, 

"I hate the dreadful hollow behind the little wood." 

A reproduction of John Singer Sargent's 
painting, "The Gypsy Dance,** bore the inscrip- 
tion, "To mon am% Browning.** From the 
library is a niche, decorated in gold, with memo- 
rial entablatures to the memory of Mrs. Brown- 

< "A Study of Elizabeth Bairett Browning." little. Brown, &Co. 



ing. On the outer wall of the palace is an 
inscription that runs: — 

''Robert Browning died in this house 12th 
December, 1889. 

'^Open my heart and you wiD see 
Graven inside it 'Italy."* 

There is a sadness in the fact that this palace, 
consecrated to the memory of the immortal 
poets, husband and wife, has passed into the 
hands of strangers ; but that is a part of the play 
in a world in which we have no continuing 
city. In the spring of 1905, Miss Sarianna 
Browning died in the home of her nephew, 
near Florence, and her body was buried in the 
new Protestant cemetery in that city; the old 
one, where all that was mortal of Elizabeth 
Barrett Browning was laid to rest, being now 
closed. Mr. Barrett Browning, in his Tuscan 
villa, is again dwelling near Florence, his native 
city, which must forever hold to him its at- 
mosphere of consecrated beauty as the beloved 
home of his mother, — the noblest and greatest 
of all woman poets. 

The centenary of Carlo Goldoni was cele- 



brated in Venice in the spring of 1907 by the 
publication of all his works and a monograph 
on his life; an exhibition of personal relics; the 
presentation of one of his dramas set to music 
by Baldassare Galuppi, the great Venetian 
composer of his time, and by a procession to 
lay a wreath of laurel on his monument in the 
Campo San Bartolommeo. The drama given, 
entitled the ^'Buranello," was the last work of 
the author, and it was presented in the theatre 
Goldoni. The Municipal Council of Venice 
voted the sum of fifty thousand lire for the edi- 
tion de luxe^ which consists of twenty volumes, in 
octavo. In each volume is a different portrait 
of Gt>ldoni, facsimile of manuscripts, and the 
reproduction of literary curiosities. 

The monograph of Goldoni was issued by the 
press of the Venetian Institute of Graphic Art 
in a limited number of copies. 

It contains more than three hundred printed 
pages and a series of very interesting illus- 
trations. Among these are the reproductions 
of ancient engravings which are most rare 
(such as the view of the Grimani Theatre 
at San Giovanni Crisostomo, a famous theatre 
tf>>Tigtmg in the days of the Venetian republic, 



but now demolished), frontispieces of destroyed 
editions, and other personal memorials. The 
revival of the splendid work of the famous artist 
was one of the attractions of the festa of cele- 
bration. The art exhibition of Venice in this 
spring of 1907 was very picturesque. One 
special salon was allotted to the artists of Great 
Britain, and there was a fine loan collection of 
the portraits of English noblemen painted by 
Mr. Sargent. This salon was decorated with 
panels by Frank Brangwyn. 

Venice forever remains a dream, a mirage, an 
enchantment. Has it a recognized social life, 
with *' seasons" that come and go? Has it 
trade, commerce, traffic? Has it any existence 
save on the artist's canvas, in the poet's vision ? 
Has it a resident population to whom it is a 
home, and not the pilgrimage of passionate 
pilgrims ? 

There are those who find this Venice of all 
the year round a society of stately nobles whose 
ancestral claims are identified with the history 
of the city and who are at home in its palaces 
and gondolas, but of this resident life the 
visitor is less aware than of that in any other 
city in Italy. For him it remains forever in 



his memory as the crowning glory of June even- 
ings when the full, golden moon hangs over 
towers and walls, when gondolas freighted with 
Venetian singers loom up out of the shadows 
and fill the air with melody that echoes as in 
dreams, and that vanishes — one knows not 
when or where. Mr. Howells, in his delightful 
*' Venetian Days," has interpreted much of that 
life that the tourist never recognizes, that eludes 
his sight; and the Dream City still, to the visitor 
who comes and goes, shrouds itself in myth 
and mystery. One of the poetic visions of 
Venice is that given in Robert Underwood 
Johnson's ^* Browning at Asolo" (inscribed to 
Mrs. Arthur Bronson), of which the opening 
stanzas run: — 

is the loggia Browning loved, 

on the flank of the friendly town; 
These axe the hills that his keen eye roved. 
The green like a cataract leaping down 
To the {dain that his pen gave new renown. 

'There to the West what a range of bluet — 
The very background Titian drew 

To his peerless Loves. O tranquil scene! 
Who than thy poet f ondlier knew 

The peaks and the shore and the kxre between? 




See! 7<mder*8 hia Venioe — the valiant Spires 

Highest one of the perfect three. 
Guarding the others: the Palace choir. 
The Temple flashing with opal fire — 
Bubble and foam of the sunlit sea.'* 

Edgar Fawcett, always enchanted with his 
Venetian days, pictures the northern lagoon, 
some six miles from Venice, as ^^a revel of 
pastoral greenness, with brieiy hedges, number- 
less wild flowers and the most captivating of 
sinuous creeks, overarched by an occasional 
bridge, so old that you greet with respect every 
moss-grown inch of its drowsy and sagging 
brickwork. The cathedral, the includible cathe- 
dral of all Italian settlements, is reached after a 
short ramble, and you enter it with mingled 
awe and amusement," he continues. ^^Some of 
its mosaics, representing martyrs being devoured 
by flames and evidently enjoying themselves a 
great deal during this mortuary process, chal- 
lenge the disrespectful smile. But others are 
vested with a rude yet sacred poetry, and cer- 
tain semi-Oriental marble sculptures, adjacent 
to the altar, would make an infidel feel like 
crossing himself for the crime of having 
yielded to a humorous twinge. This duomo 



dates fax back beyond the Middle Ages, and 
so does the small Church of Santa Fosca, only 
a step away. What renders Torcello so indi- 
vidual among all the islands and islets of the 
lagoon, I should say, is her continual contrast 
between the ever-recurrent idyllicism of open 
meadows or wilding clusters of simple rustic 
thickets, and the enormous antiquity of these 
two hoary ecclesiastic fanes. History is in 
the air, and you feel that the very daisies 
you crush underfoot, the very copses from 
which you pluck a scented spray, have their 
delicate rustic ancestries, dating back to Attila, 
who is said once to have brought his de- 
structive presence where now such sweet so- 
lenmity of desertion and quietude unmolestedly 

History and legend and art and romance meet 
and mingle to create that indefinable sorcery of 
Venice. It is like nothing on earth except a 
poet's dream, and his poetic dream is of the 
ethereal realm. The wonderful music that 
floats over the "silver trail" of still waters; 
the mystic silences; the resplendence of color, 
— all, indeed, weave themselves into an incanta- 
tion of the gods; it is the ineffable loveliness of 



Paradise where the rose of morning glows '^ and 
the June is always June/' and it is no more 
earth, but a celestial atmosphere, — this glory 
of June in Venice. 


Dear Italy i The aound of iky soft name 
Soothes me wiih halm of Mmurry and Hope. 
Mine, for the moment, height and sweep and dope 
Thai once were mine. Supreme is still the aim 

To flee the odd and gray 
Of our December day. 
And red where thy dear spirit hums with vneonsuming flame 

Thou kuman-hearted land, whose revds hM 
Man in communion vnth the antigfue days. 
And summon him from prosy greed to ways 
Where Youth is heckoning to the Age of Odd; 

How thou dost held him near 
And whisper in his ear 
Of the lod Paradise thai lies heyond the alluring haael 

BoBSBT Undsbwood Johnbon. 

Cheat ideas create great peoples, Ld your life he the living 
summary of one sole organic idea. Enlarge the horixon of the 
peoples. Liberate their conscience from the materialism by which 
ii is weighed down. Set a vast mission before them. Rebaptisse 
them. Mazoni. 

AU parts array for the progress of souls: aU rdigion^ aU 
things^ arts, governments^ — aU that was or is apparent upon 
this globcy or any globe, falls into niches and comes before the pro^ 
cession of Sotds along the grand roads of the universe. . . . Of the 
progress of the souls of men and women along the grand roads of 
the universe, all other progress is the needed emblem and s%ute» 
n^nce. Walt WHmiAN. 



More than five hundred yean have passed over the ooimtiy of Dante 
since the death of his mortal part — yean olgjoiy and ol shame, of genius 
and intolerable mediocrity, ol turbulent liberty and mortal servitude; but 
the name of Dante has remained, and the severe image of the poet still 
rules the destinies of Italian generations, now an enoouragement and now 
a reproach. The splendor of no other genius has been able to edipse or 
dim the grandeur of Dante; never has there been a darkness so profound 
that it could conceal this star of promise from Italian eyes; neither the 
profanations of tyrants and Jesuits, nor the vidations of foreign invaders, 
have been able to efface it "Sanctum Poeta nomen quod mmquam har» 
baries vioZovd." Mazoni. 

The true life of Italy is not read in any record 
of contemporary facts or statistics. Mazzini 
once said of Dante, in an essay on the immortal 
poet, that ^^the life, the true life of Dante does 
not lie in the series of the material facts of his 
existence. The life of Dante consists in the 
sufferings and aspirations of his soul; in its 
dominant impulses; in the ceaseless develop- 
ment of the idea which was at once his guide, 
inspiration, and consolation; in his belief as a 
man and as an Italian.'' The real life of Italy 



is, by analogy, to be read in that atmosphere 
of aspiration and of noble purpose which char- 
acterizes the nation rather than in the material 
facts of its general progress at the present time. 
As a country Italy is young. It is still less than 
forty years since her unity was declared, and to 
merge the large number of separate States into 
one harmonious whole is a task requiring the 
evolutionary progress of time; for a nation, like 
a university, cannot be a matter of instanta- 
neous creation. It must germinate and grow. 
The country that, previous to so comparatively 
a recent date as the year 1870, was, in the phras- 
ing of Prince Mettemich, "a geographical ex- 
pression," can hardly be judged by present 
national standards after an existence of only 
thirty-seven years, although it need be said in 
no spirit of apology; for Italy is advancing in 
scientific development, in manufactures, and in 
the problems involved in civil and hydraulic 
engineering to a notable degree in the northern 
part. Milan and Naples are separated by far 
more than geographical distance. In modem 
progress Milan is divided by centuries from all 
Southern Italy. 
Between Italy and the United States the 



entente cordicde is not merely that of diplomatic 
and ceremonial courtesy, but of an exceptional 
degree of mutually sympathetic comprehensions. 
In noble ambitions and lofty purposes Ameri- 
cans and Italians are closely akin. In zeal for 
contemporary scientific progress, in an intense 
susceptibility to the glories of art, and in hos- 
pitality to all that makes for progress, both 
nations meet in mutual recognition. Of no 
people is it more deeply true than of Americans 
that *^each man has two countries: his own 
and Italy." The average traveller sees this 
fair land with a breadth and thoroughness sel- 
dom called into requisition elsewhere. In Eng- 
land he is usually content with London, the 
tour of the cathedral towns and the lake region 
of the poets. France is summed up to him in 
Paris and in the chateaux of outlying districts. 
But Italy beguiles the traveller into every lonely 
foot-trail in the mountains; to every ** piazza 
grande*' of lonely hamlets, isolated on a rocky 
hillside; to every "fortezza** that crowns a 
mountain summit. The unexplored byways of 
Italy are magnetic in their fascination, and one 
special source of congratulation on the part of 
those fortunate tourists who travel with their 



own motor car is that they are thus enabled to 
penetrate into untrodden byways in Italy in a 
manner impossible to those who must depend 
entirely on the regulation railroad service. All 
lovers of Italy are devoted to these original 
tours of private exploration. A recent trip to 
Saricinesco, in the region of Tivoli, was made 
by Mrs. Stetson (Grace Elleiy Channing) with 
her husband, and in a descriptive record of the 
little journey into an unfrequented mountain 
region this paragraph occurs: — 

"Roused by *an awful rose of dawn' which 
turned every solemn slope to strange amber and 
amethyst, we left that rocky eyrie next day, 
returning by way of Anticoli — beloved of art- 
ists. And if the ascent had qualified us for 
Alpine climbers^ the descent qualified us as 
members of the Italian cavalry corps. Pictures 
of officers riding down the face of cliffs will 
never impress us again; we know now it is the 
very simplest of * stunts.' Our way down was di- 
versified by the tinkling of thousands of sheep- 
bells, by the far too close proximity of bulls to 
Maria's crimson headdress, which nothing in 
the world would induce her to remove, and by 



sundry meetings with relations, long*unseen 
friends, and strangers, from whom we culled 
the whole register of deaths, births, marriages, 
and happenings for a month past. At last, 
beside a little bridge near the railroad station, 
Leonardo addressed his ten-thousandth adjura- 
tion to Beppino, whose poor little legs trembled 
under him. It was no longer, *Ah, sacred one! 

— don't you see Anticoli!' — or *the rock,' 
or whatever it might be; now he said, *Ah, 
sacred one! — don't you comprehend? — the 
Signora descends' — and Beppino looked dis- 
tinctly pleased. 

"Here we demanded the reckoning, skilfully 
evaded hitherto. 

"* Well — a franc for each beast, — and half 
a franc for the room, — the rest was nothing 

— a 9ciocchezza.^ 

"A franc apiece! — half a franc! — were we 
brigands that we should do this thing?" 

This typical picture of idyllic days in Italy, 
enjoyed in the impromptu excursion and trip, 
reveals the delicacy of feeling and the sunny 
kindness that characterize the contadini and 
imparts to any social contact with them 



a grace and sweetness peculiar to Italian life* 
There are parts of Italy where it is still the 
Middle Ages and no hint of the twentieth 
century has yet penetrated. The modem spirit 
has almost taken possession of Rome; it is 
largely in evidence in Florence and even 
Venice, and it dominates Milan; but in most 
of the ^^hill towns" and in the little hamlets 
and lonely haunts where a house is perhaps 
imp»>vM out of the primeval to^. the 
prevailing life is still mediaeval, and only 
awakens on festa days into any semblance of 

Somewhere, away up in the hills, several 
miles from Pegli, — on the Mediterranean coast 
near Genoa, — is one of these sequestered little 
hill towns called Acqtui Sacra. The name is 
obvious, indeed, for the sound of the "sacred 
water" fills the air, falling from every hillside 
and from the fountain of the acqtui sacra by 
the church. Pilgrims come from miles around 
to drink of these waters. Each house in this 
remote little hamlet is of solid stone, resembling 
a fortress on a small scale, and the houses cling 
to the hillsides like mosses to a rock. Though 
far up in the mountains, the hills rise around 



the hamlet like city walls, as if the life of all 
the world were kept outside. The unforeseen 
visit to these remote hamlets, suddenly chancing 
upon some small centre of happy and half- 
idyllic life, is one of the charms of tourist travel 
in this land of ineffable loveliness. 

The approach to Italy, by whatever direction, 
by land or by sea, one enters, is ohe of magical 
beauty. Whether one enters from the Mediter* 
ranean or from the Adriatic, or by means of 
the Mont Cenis, the Simplon, or the St. Gothard 
pass, through the sublime mountain wall, each 
gateway is marvellous in attraction. Approach- 
ing from the seas that completely surround Italy 
except on one side, the almost imdreamed-of 
splendor of Naples, Grenoa, and Venice, as seen 
from off the shore, exceeds all power of painter 
or poet to reproduce. The precipitous coast 
of Sicily; the picturesque city of Palermo; 
the wonderful ruins of the Greek theatre on 
the heights m Taormina,— aU enchant the 
tourist. To anchor off Naples, in the beau- 
tiful bay, serves the purpose of an hotel out at 
sea. It is like living in Venice — only more so ! 
By the little rowboats one may go, at any mo- 
ment, to Naples, and it is more delightful than 



passing the days in the city itself. For at 
night as one strolls or sits on deck what a pic- 
ture is before the eye! All Naples, on her 
semicircular shores, with her terraced heights 
rising above, defined in a blaze of electric 
lights! Genoa, la Superha, is still more mag- 
nificent when seen from the sea; and Venice, 
rising dream-enchanted, completes the won- 
ders of the approach by water. 

As the new Italy has not yet achieved any 
homogeneous unity, Naples, Rome, Florence, 
Venice, and Milan differ in their characteristics 
to such a degree that no general interpretation 
of the residents of any one would appropriately 
describe those of another. Paris and Vienna 
hardly differ as much as do Milan and Rome; 
and Venice, Florence, and Rome, each rich in 
art treasures, have little else in common. Cer- 
tain characteristics of each of the large cities 
reveal themselves prominently, even to a su- 
perficial observer. Milan, as has been said, is 
a centre of activity, as Florence is of culture 
and accomplishments. Florence has the largest 
and the most choice circulating library in all 
Italy and one that ranks among the best on the 
Continent. Her galleries are treasure stores of 



art, and her social life is unsurpassed — one 
might almost say unrivalled — in its fine qual- 
ity. Music, philosophic culture, learning in all 
lines of research characterize Florentine society. 
Education has always been regarded in Florence 
». matter of prii imporU^ce. and when the 
government grant of funds is insufficient the 
sum is made up by private contributions, so 
that the Scuola del Popolo gives free instruction, 
yearly, to eighteen hundred pupils, in every 
branch of technical and art education. This 
fact alone offers its own explanation of that 
general intelligence of the people which so im- 
presses the visitor in Florence. But this is a 
municipal rather than national fact. Eveiy 
special development in any direction in Italy 
will always be found to be the characteristic of 
the city or locality, not of the country as a 
whole; and thus the unity of Italy is still a 
political expression rather than a political fact. 
It is a theory which is not yet developed into 
an experience. Italy is in the making. Prac- 
tically, she is the youngest of countries, with 
less than forty years of experimental attempt at 
naiiancd life behind her. Not until 1919 will 
she have attained the first half century of her 



united life. Educational facilities, inclusive of 
schools, libraries, and museums; railroads, tel- 
egraph and telephone service, electric lighting 
and electric trams, — all the ways and means 
of the modem mechanism of life are, inevita- 
bly, in a nebulous state in Italy. The political 
situation is extremely interesting at the present 
time. That the '* Blacks'* and the "Whites'' 
are diametrically opposed to each other is in 
the nature of history rather than that of con- 
temporary record or of prophecy; and that this 
is a traditional attitude in this city of the Csesars 
is not a fact by any means unknown; but the sit- 
uation is complicated by the third party — the 
Socialists — who, by allying themselves with 
either, would easily turn the scales and com- 
mand the situation. If they were ardent Cath- 
olics and were advocates of the Papal supremacy, 
the temporal power of the Pope would be restored 
in less time almost than could be recorded, and 
Pius X would be in residence in the Palazzo 
Quirinale rather than Victor Emanuele III. 
But this great modem uprising in Italy — a 
movement that is gathering force and numbers 
so rapidly that no one can venture to prophesy 
results even in the comparatively inunediate 



future — this great modem movement is neither 
for church nor state. The Socialist uprising is 
very strong in Milan and through Northern 
Italy. It is much in evidence in the Umbrian 
region — in Foligno, Spoleto, Nervi, and those 
towns; and from Frascati to Genzano and in 
the Lake Nemi chain of villages — Rocca di 
Papa, Castel Gandolpho, Ariccia, Albano — 
these villages within some fifteen miles of Rome. 
In these there is a veritable stronghold of So- 
cialism, where its purposes and policy are en- 
trenched. Yet when one alludes to its policy, 
the term is rather too definite. If it had a 
settled and well-formulated policy on which all 
its adherents were in absolute accord they would 
carry all before them. But Socialism is still a 
very elastic term and covers, if not a multi- 
tude of sins, at least a multitude of ideas and 
ideals. There is now a rumor that the situa- 
tion is forcing the absolutely inconceivable union 
of church and state — of the Vatican and the 
Quirinale — that they may thus withstand their 
common foe. A more amazing and extraordi- 
nary turn of affairs could not be imagined; and 
if the rumor (which is now becoming more co- 
herent in Rome) should prove to be the fore- 



runner of any truth, the situation will be one of 
f he most amazing in all history. 

Epoch-making events in the course of prog- 
ress are always preceded by circumstances that 
form to them a natural approach and chain of 
causation. They are the results of which the 
causes stretch backward in the past. One of 
the things that has an incalculably determining 
influence on the present situation is that of the 
character of the present Pope. His Holiness, 
Pius X, brings to the Papacy an entirely new 
element. He is no ascetic or exclusive ecclesi- 
astic; he is no diplomat or intriguant, but rather 
a simple, kindly man, of a simplicity totally 
unprecedented in the annals of the Palazzo 
Vaticano. Instead of clinging with unswerving 
intensity of devotion to the idea of the restora- 
tion of the temporal power of the church. Pope 
Pius X would not be disinclined to the uniting 
of church and state as in England; the Vatican 
to remain, like the See of Canterbury, the ac- 
knowledged head of the spiritual power, while 
the Quirinale remained the head of the govern* 
ment to which the church should give its polit- 
ical adherence, the Quirinale in return giving 
to the Vatican its religious adherence. Perhaps 



it is not too much to say that something not 
unlike this might easily become — if it is not 
already — the dream of Pius X, But in the 
mean time there is another factor with which to 
reckon, and that is the present Papal Secretary 
of State, Cardinal Merry del Val. He it is who 
really holds the mystic key of St. Peter's. He 
is a diplomatist, an ecclesiastic, an embodiment 
of all that is severe and archaic in authority. 
The Pope is by no means able to set his course 
by his own watch-lights. The College of Car- 
dinals surrounds him, and the College of Cardi- 
nals is practically one Cardinal, the keen 
scholar and the all determining Cardinal Merry 
del Val, whose personality dominates the court 
of the Vatican. This remarkable prelate rep- 
resents the most advanced and progressive 
thought of the day in many ways, — as has 
been noted in preceding pages, — but as a 
Jesuit he is unalterably devoted to what he con- 
siders the only ideal, — the restoration of the 
temporal power of the Pope. Spain revealed 
her attitude when King Alphonso asked of all 
the monarchs of Europe that the name of each 
should be borne by his infant son, the heir- 
apparent; and for Italy he asked the name of 



the Pope and not of the King, thus reoognizing 
Pius X rather than Victor Emmanuel III as 
the head of the nation. 

That the Socialists have very logical and 
serious grounds for complaint is true. That 
their leader, Signor Enrico Ferri, an Italian 
joumahst and a Senator, is one of the most 
able men in Italy since the time of Cavour is 
equally undeniable. The Socialists are fortu- 
nate, too, in other leading men. Zurati, the 
editor of the Critica Sociale, Pantaleoni, Cola- 
janni, and others are absolutely the hope of 
Italy at the present time in the struggle for bet- 
ter conditions. For the conditions of life in 
Italy, as regards taxation, the problems of tran- 
sit, the government restrictions on agricultural 
production and on manufactures, are absolutely 
intolerable and should not be endured for a 
day. The taxation is so exorbitant that it is a 
marvel Italy is not depopulated. On land the tax 
rate is from thirty to fifty per cent; the income 
tax is not merely, as one would suppose, levied 
on a legitimate income derived from a man's pos- 
sessions, but is levied on salaries, ranging from 
ten to twenty per cent of these, and also, not 
content with this unheard-of extortion, the tax 



is levied on the nature and source of his salary, 
and even the smallest wage is thus subject to 
an income tax. Again, there is a most absurd 
tax on salt, which, like sugar and tobacco, is 
held as a government monopoly. No poor per- 
son living on the seacoast in Italy is allowed to 
take even a pail of water from the sea to his 
house, as the government assumes that, by evap- 
oration, it might yield a few grains of salt. The 
tax on sugar effectually checks an industry that 
might be made most profitable, that of putting 
up fruit in jams, jellies, and compote, and ren- 
ders the price of these commodities absurdly 
high. Again, when taxes are paid the process 
is even worse than the unjust and exorbitant 
tax itself. No one is allowed to send a check 
or postal order; no tax gatherer calls at the 
home or the office. Each person must go him- 
self or send a personal representative to a given 
place between certain hours. Here stand a long 
procession, each person in town going up, filling 
out pages of written formalities ; talking of each 
item and discussing it according to the national 
custom, until the office hours are over for that 
day, and often not one-fourth of the persons 
waiting have been served. All then must take 



their chances the next day, and perhaps even a 
third or a fourth day, — a loss of time and 
energy that in no other country would be tol- 
erated for a moment. But time has not yet 
any recognizable value in Italy. Every enter- 
prise and manufacture is taxed in Italy, and as 
the returns of these are inevitably revealed so 
that no evasion is possible, and as the exactions 
of the government consume nearly all the profits, 
the result is that all business enterprises are dis- 
couraged and that Italy swarms with a great 
idle population, while nearly all articles and 
supplies are imported from other countries, with 
the payment of enormous duties, making their 
cost far greater, proportionately, than their 

There are great tracts of country in Southern 
Italy suitable for tobacco raising, but (as it is 
one of the government monopolies) people are 
forbidden to raise it; and in private gardens 
only three plants are permitted. Again, aU in- 
dustries are crippled, if not paralyzed, by the 
tax at the frontier, and also by the tax at every 
gate of every city. At every fOTla in Rome 
are stationed government officers who scrutinize 
every box, basket, and package; and all fruit, 



eggs, garden stuff, milk, and commodities of 
every kind are taxed as they are brought inside 
the walls. 

The railroads of Italy are, at present, very 
poor in all facilities of transit. Within a year 
the Italian government has "taken over" these 
roads and better conditions are promised, which 
are, alas! not yet in sight. There are many 
"counts'' to the indictment against the Italian 
railroads which are only suitable to adorn the 
very lowest circles of the Inferno described by 
Dante. They are uncleanly; the roadbeds are 
so rough that the miserably built compartments 
jolt and jostle over the tracks; the seats are so 
high that the feet can hardly touch the floor, 
and the facilities for light and air are as badly 
managed as is possible to conceive. As is well 
known, these are divided into first, second, and 
third class, these compartments all being in 
the same train, and between the first and sec- 
ond there is little difference save that of price. 
Curiously, the price of even second-class travel- 
ling in Italy is over half a cent a mile higher 
than that of the splendid trains in America, 
with their swift time, their smooth roadbeds, 
their admirable conveniences in every way. 



Again, no luggage is carried free, and the prices 
asked for it are extortionate beyond words. 
One may check all his impedimenta from San 
Francisco to New York without extra charge; 
but in going from Rome to Naples, or from 
Florence to Grenoa to sail, the same luggage will 
cost from six to eight <lollars to convey it to 
the steamer. Again, these railroads pay their 
employes so poorly that only the most ineffi- 
cient service can be retained at all; only those 
persons who are the absolute prisoners of pov- 
erty will consent to accept such meagrely paid 

The Italian government consists, like that of 
most countries, of an upper and lower house, 
the Senate and the House of Deputies. But the 
former is rather a matter of miscellaneous honors 
than one of political initiative. There is no 
limit to the number of Senators ; they are created 
by being named by the King, and the office is 
for life. If a man attracts the favorable notice of 
the King, — because he is a good artist, engineer, 
archseologist, chemist, or financier, — presto, he 
is liable to be made a Senator. Canova, the 
celebrated sculptor, was made a Senator be- 
cause, indeed, he was a great artist! There 



is one condition, however, that a Senator 
must be one who pays annually not less than 
three thousand lire in taxes. The Senators re- 
ceive no salary, and their times of meeting are 
uncertain and no man's presence is obligatory. 
The House of Deputies has five hundred and 
eight members, all of whom must be Italian 
subjects over thirty years of age. They have no 
salary, but are given the entire freedom of the 
realm in all transit on railroads and steamers. 
The Chamber of Deputies is largely made up 
of professional men, and it is little wonder 
that the Socialists are demanding an entire 
reform in the government of the country. 
There was never in any country more defective 
conditions than now prevail in Italy. The very 
fact that the young King is an estimable gentle- 
man, who is personally not in the least to blame 
for the prevailing status of unfortunate condi- 
tions, is in one way an added misfortune, as 
the personal loyalty he justly inspires militates 
by so much against the revolution in govern- 
ment which is so deeply a necessity of Italy 
befdre her better and more prosperous life can 
begin. It is now a country of stagnation. All 
Southern and Central Italy simply lives o£F its 



tourists; and every year prices and fees and 
extortion in general from the visitors to Italy 
become greater. 

Senator Enrico Ferri, the leader of Socialism 
in Italy, was bom in 1856 in Mantua. He had 
a university education, was admitted to the bar, 
and in 1881 was called to the chair of penal 
law in the University of Bologna. The Senator 
is a scientific Socialist, — a man of the most 
exceptional gifts and qualities, and the author 
of a noted work, entitled "Criminal Sociology,** 
which is translated into several languages. Sen- 
ators Ferri and Lombroso are special friends 
and also co-workers. 

On taking his seat in the University of 
Bologna, Professor Ferri delivered a lecture, en- 
titled "New Horizons in Penal Law,*' which 
was a most impressive efifort. In it he said : — 

"It was in this inaugural discourse that I 
affirmed the existence of the positivist school of 
criminal law, and assigned to it these two 
fundamental rules: First, while the classical 
schools of criminal law have always studied the 
crime and neglected the criminal, the object of 
the positivist school was, in the first place, to 



study the criminal, so that, instead of the crime 
being regarded merely as a juridical fact, it 
must be studied with the aid of biology, of psy- 
chology, and of criminal statistics as a natural 
and social fact, transforming the old criminal 
law into a criminal sociology. Secondly, while 
the classical schools, since Beccaria and Howard, 
have fulfilled the historic mission of decreasing 
the punishments as a reaction from the severity 
of the mediaeval laws, the object of the positiv- 
ist school is to decrease the offence by iiyresti- 
gating its natural and social causes in order to 
apply social remedies more efficacious and more 
liumane than the penal counteraction, always 
slow in its effects, especially in its cellular sys- 
tem, which I have called one of the aberrations 
of the nineteenth century." 

Such is the man to whom it is no extrava- 
gance to allude as one of the present leaders of 
progress in Italy. He is in the early prime of 
mature life; he is a man of education, culture, 
great original gifts, and of sympathies with hu- 
manity as wise and judicious as they are liberal 
and all-embracing. Scientific Socialism toler- 
ates no lawlessness, no violence, nor does it, like 



the so-called Christian Socialism, attempt to 
graft impossible conditions on society. It re- 
gards the laws of economics, and it is prac- 
ticable and possible as well as considerate 
and just. And the great inspirer, proclaimer, 
and leader of scientific Socialism is Enrico 
Italy not only inspires the enthusiasm of the 
lover of beauty in nature and art, she inspires 
a vital and abiding interest in all that shall 
make for her true progress, and she insjHies, as 
well, absolute faith in her ultimate future. At 
present her monarchy is among the most liberal 
and progressive of Europe. King Victor Em- 
manuel is a man of integrity, of intelligence, and 
of devotion to the best interests of his country 
as he understands these interests to be. If they 
might be better served by a more democratic 
form of government, it is hardly to be asked 
or expected that such a view should present 
itself to an hereditary monarch. Among the 
most liberal element there are not wanting men 
who believe that for the immediate future the 
present form of government is the most feasible. 
In their conviction Italy is by no means pre- 
pared to be a republic. The masses of the 



people are uneducated; and a great work, re« 
quiring time, must be e£Fected . in the populari^ 
zatioh of intelligence and of instruction, before 
democratic government could be adopted. Yet 
there is no faltering in the outlook on a glori* 
ous future. The noble words of Mazzini still 
ring in the Itahan air: ^^ Walk in faith, and fear 
not. Believe, and you will conquer.** By way 
of enforcing his convictions Mazzini said : — 

^^Upon a day in the sixteenth century, at 
Rome, some men bearing the title of InquisiierSy 
who assumed to derive wisdom and authority 
from God himself, were assembled to decree 
the immobility of the earth. A prisoner stood 
before them. His brow was illumined by genius. 
He had outstripped time and mankind, and re<- 
veaied the secret of a world. 

**It was Gahleo. 

*'The old man shook his bold and venerable 
head. His soul revolted against the absurd vio- 
lence of those who sought to force him to deny 
the truths revealed to him by God. But his 
pristine energy was worn down by long suffer- 
ing and sorrow; the monkish menace crushed 
him. He strove to submit. He raised his hand» 



he too, to declare the immobility of the earth. 
But as he raised his hand, he raised his weary 
eyes to that heaven they had searched through- 
out long nights to read thereon one line of the 
universal law; they encountered a ray of that 
sun which he so well knew motionless amid the 
moving spheres. Remorse entered his heart : an 
involuntary ciy burst from the believer's soul: 
Eppur si mnove I and yet it moves. 

^* Three centuries have passed away. Inquis- 
itors, — inquisition, — absurd theses imposed by 
force, — all these have disappeared. Naught 
remains but the well-established movement of 
the earth, and the sublime cry of Galileo float- 
ing above the ages. 

"Child of Humanity, raise thy brow to the 
sun of Grod, and read upon the heavens: It 
moves. Faith and action! The future is ours/' 

"Poetry," added Mazzini, "will teach the 
young the nobleness of sacrifice, of constancy, 
and silence; of feeling one's self alone without 
despairing, in an existence of suffering unknown 
or misunderstood; in long years of bitterness, 
wounds, and delusion, endured without murmur 
or lament; it will teach them to have faith in 



things to come, and to labor unceasingly to 
hasten their coming, even though without hope 
of living to witness their triumph;'' and his 
final word in this great invocation to the new 
potencies of the opening future is an exhorta- 
tion to believe in all greatness and goodness. 
"Faith,'' he said, "which is intellect, energy, 
and love, will put an end to the discords exist- 
ing in a society which has neither church nor 
leaders; which invokes a new world, but for- 
gets to ask its secret, its Word, from God.". In 
universal education must lie the first national 
aid to the development of Italy. ^^Vanima del 
gran numdo e r allegria:' 

As Florence is pre-eminently the city of cul- 
ture, so is Milan of activities. Her keynote is 
modemite. The visitor is at once impressed by 
her energy, her enterprise, and her conunercial 
prosperity. Milan has the best municipal fa- 
cilities and conveniences in all Italy. The elec- 
tric lighting of streets, public buildings, and 
residences, the street transit, the arrangement 
and conduct of shops and all industrial matters, 
are in such contrast to any other city in Italy 
as to lead the sojourner to ask himself whether 
he can still be on the southern side of the Ai- 



pine range. In the Galleria Vittorio Emanuele 
Milan has the most wonderful structure in all 
Europe. This arcade was built in 1865, and 
under the magnificent glass dome .it includes 
nearly one hundred of the most attractive 
and well-stocked shops, bazaars, and establish- 
ments. The dome is decorated with frescoes 
and caryatides, and with the statues of num- 
bers of eminent men, among whom are Dante, 
Raphael, Savonarola, and Cavour. The offices 
and banks in Milan are centres of incessant 

For all this stress of activity the visitor does 
not, however, forget the art features; the visit 
to the antique Church of St. Ambrosio ; to the 
old convent where Leonardo da Vinci's cele- 
brated fresco, "The Last Supper," is to be 
seen, though so faded that it is now difficult 
to discern all the figures. Nor does he fail to 
climb the wonderful cathedral that lifts its airy 
grace, as if about to float upward in the skies. 
Every flight of the steps, in the ascent, brings 
one to a new vision of beauty. On the roof of 
this cathedral one wanders as in a very forest 
of sculpture. Its scheme of decoration includes 
more than two thousand statues, two of which 



are by Canova. From the summit, when the air 
is clear, there are beautiful views of the Alps. 

To the savant and scholar the Ambrosian 
library in Milan is one of the special treasures 
of Europe. It contains some of the most rare 
and valuable manuscripts in the entire world, 
— some of Virgil's with annotations from Pe- 
trarca; a manuscript of Dante's; drawings by 
Leonardo da Vinci, and other interesting mat- 
ters of which no other copies exist. 

The Magic Land is seen under its most be- 
witching spell in the region .of the Italian lakes. 
The palace of Isola Bella; the charming gar- 
dens; the lake of Como, green-walled in hills 
whose luxuriant foliage and bloom form a 
framework for the white villas that cluster on 
their terraced slopes, — all form a very fairyland 
of ethereal, rose-embowered beauty. At night 
the lakes are a strange, unreal world of silver 
lights and shadows. 

The completion of the Simplon tunnel has 
opened between Italy and Paris a route not 
only offering swifter facilities for transit, but 
adding another to the regions of beauty. This 
route has also still further increased the com- 
mercial importance of Milan, the portal and 



metropolis of Northern Italy. Milan has be- 
come the national centre of all scientific and 
technical pursuits, and it is fairly the Mecca for 
young men of Central and Southern Italy who 
are entering into the professions, or into civil 
and electrical engineering and other of the 
technical arts and industries. 

Bologna, with her historic University, with 
the long covered arcades of the streets, the 
fountain, which is the work of Giovanni di 
Bologna, and the gallery where many of Guido's 
best works are placed, has its individual inter- 
est for the tourist ; and Verona, Pavia, Modena, 
Parma, and Turin all repay a visit from the 
leisurely saunterer in Italy. 

Pisa offers to the visitor four interesting 
architectural monuments in the Duomo, the 
Baptistery, the Leaning Tower, and the Campo 
Santo, all of which are unique. The cathe- 
dral has unique designs in its black and white 
marbles that render it almost as much an ob- 
ject of artistic study as is the cathedral in 
Siena. The view from the summit of the Lean- 
ing Tower reveals the Mediterranean six miles 
in the distance, gleaming like a sea of silver. 
The Campo Santo dates from the thirteenth 



century, when the earth of which it is composed 
was brought (in 1228) from the holy places 
in Jerusalem, conveyed to the city (then a sea- 
port) by fifty galleys sent out by the Republic 
of Pisa. The interior walls of the Campo 
Santo are covered with fresco paintings by 
Orcagna which are one of the artistic spec- 
tacles of the country in their extravagant por- 
trayal of theological beliefs, so realistically 
presented in their dramatic scenes from Para- 
dise and from Hades, as to leave nothing to the 
imagination. The fantasies in this emblematic 
sculpture of memorial monuments over a period 
of seven hundred years can be seen in the 
Campo Santo of Pisa, — a strange and often a 
most grotesque medley. 

G^noa is well named La Superba. Her 
thoroughfares are streets of palaces. Her ter- 
raced gardens and villas, reached by the sub- 
terranean funicular street railway, are regions 
of unique and incomparable beauty, with the 
blue Mediterranean at their feet. Grenoa is the 
paradise for walking. The streets are largely 
inaccessible to carriages, but the admirable 
street electric railway penetrates every locality. 
It passes in dark tunnels under the hill5» reap- 



pears on the high terraces, and climbs every 
height. From the crest of one of these Corsica 
can often be seen. All the hill-slopes are a 
dream of pictorial grandeur, with their terraces, 
their palaces, their sculpture, fountains, and 
flowers. On the summit of almost every hill 
there is a fortress, and often ramparts which are 
silhouetted, in dark masses, against the sky. 
Orange groves abound on the terraces, often 
showing the golden fruit, buds, and blossoms 
all at the same time. 

Genoa is fairly a metropolis of sculpture. 
The great families have themselves perpetuated 
in portrait statues rather than in painted por- 
traits. In one of the grand ducal palaces in 
the Via Balbi the visitor may see, not only the 
life-size statues and the busts of the family an- 
cestry, but one group comprising nine figures, 
where three generations are represented, in 
both sitting and standing poses, ingeniously 

The churches of Genoa are among the rich- 
est in Europe. That of the Annunziati, the 
special monument of the Lomellini family, 
glitters and gleams with its gold ceilings and 
rich frescoes. The cathedral has the special 



allurement of the emerald dish which King 
Solomon received as a gift from the Queen of 
Sheba. The little "street of the jewellers" is 
an alluring place, — so narrow that one can al« 
most stand in the centre of the road and touch 
the shop windows on either hand, and these 
windows dazzle the eye with their fascinating 
glitter of gold and silver filigree work and their 
rich jewels. 

Beyond all other curious excursions that even 
a Magic Land can offer is that to the Campo 
Santo of Genoa. A cloistered promenade en- 
closes a square, and above are terraced colon- 
nades, each and aU revealing statues, and 
monuments, and groups of sculpture whose 
varied beauty, oddity, or bizarre effects are a 
curious study. Some memorials — as one of 
an angel with outstretched wings; another of 
a flight of angels bearing the soul away; another 
combining the figure of Christ with the cross, 
and angels hovering near — are full of beauty. 
Others are a marvel of ingenious and incongru- 
ous combination. One of the latter represents 
the man whose memory it commemorates as 
lying on his bed in his last illness ; the physician 
stands by, his fingers on the patient's pulse; on 



the opposite side a maid is approaching with a 
dish holding some article of food, and near the 
physician are grouped the wife, with a little 
child clinging to her skirts; the son, holding 
his hat with both hands and looking down on 
it, and the daughter, a young girl, with her 
eyes raised to heaven. Each of these figures is 
in life size; the bed is reproduced in marble, 
with the pillows and all the coverings in the 
most absolute realism, and the entire effect is 
so startling in its bizarre aspect that one could 
hardly believe in its existence until by personal 
observation he had verified so singular a mon- 

Yet there is beauty and symbolic loveliness, 
too, in many of the memorial sculptures of this 
Campo Santo, and turning away from this 
cemetery in which lies the body of the noble 
Mazzini, one hears on the air the refrain of 
his words on Dante : — 

'^It appeared to him of more importance to 
hasten to accomplish his mission upon earth, 
than to meditate upon the inevitable hour which 
marks for all men the beginning of a new 
task. And if at times he speaks of weariness 



of life, it is only because he sees evil more and 
mo.« triumphit in the pla«» whe» his mis- 
sion was appointed. He concerned himself, not 
about the length or the shortness of life, but 
about the end for which life was given; for he 
felt Grod in life, and knew the creative virtue 
there is in action/* 

Eighty thousand people followed Mazzini to 
his tomb, and his name lives in the Italy of 
to-day as one to be associated with that of 
Dante as prophet and inspirer. 

The enchantment of approaching Grenoa from 
the sea at night is an experience to remain as 
one of the pictorial treasures of memory. The 
magnificent lantema^ the hghthouse with its re- 
volving light, that can be seen for fifty miles 
out from the coast; the brilliant illumination 
defining the fortezza on the summit of one hill; 
the curving lights of the terraced residential 
district and the illumination of the very forest 
of shipping clustered in the bay, — all combine 
into a scene not easily e£faced from the mem- 
ories of foreign scenes. 

It is only in close relations with Italian liter- 
ature that Italy can be adequately enjoyed and 



that the sojourner may enter into sympathetic 
associations with contemporary Italian life. Dr. 
Richard Gamett beUeves that the literature of 
Italy "'is a less exhaustive manifestation than 
elsewhere of the intellect of the nation/' and 
that "the best energies of the country are em- 
ployed in artistic production. It is, indeed, 
remarkable," he continues, "that out of the nine 
Italians most brilliantly conspicuous in the first 
rank of genius and achievement, — Aquinas, 
Dante, Columbus, Leonardo, Michael Angelo, 
Raphael, Titian, Galileo, Napoleon, — only one 
should have been a man of letters." 

Contemporary Italian literature follows the 
trend of the day in reflecting the life of the 
people. The novels of Fogazzaro, the poems 
of Carducci, the biography and history written 
by Villari, to say nothing of several other 
writers who, while not approaching these au* 
thors, have still a definite place in the literature 
of the present, offer illumination on the outer 
scenery of life, and offer interpretation of the 
life itself. Art has declined; literature has ad- 
vanced in Italy, even within the past decade. 
The law of progress is as inevitable as is the law 
of gravitation. 




Onwaid the chariot of the Unvaiying moves; 

Nor day divulges him nor night conceals; 
Thou hear'st the echo of unietuniing hooves* 

And thunder of irrevocable wheels." 

The future of Italy inspires faith in the re- 
newal of its noblest ideals of achievement. Its 
ineffable beauty is a heritage of joy to every 
visitor who comes under the indescribable spell 
of its attraction and finds that, in all the pano- 
rama of foreign life which haunts his memory, 
it is Italy which shines resplendent as the 
Magic Land! 




Accad6iia 'des Aicadei* Boinc» 

Aocad^mia di San Luca, oldeet art 
school, 44; location of, 46; gal- 
leries of, 46, 47, 48. 

Acqua Sacra, 428. 

AkerB, Paul, in Rome, 10; early 
death cl, 6S\ work of, 64, U; 
quoted, 56; Hawthorne's esti- 
mate of, 67. 

Aldridi, Thomas Bailoy, quoted, 

AUen, ElisabeHi Akon, quoted, 68. 

Amalfi, 268-£67; destruction cl, 
268, 250. 

Ambroaian library, Milan, 440. 

American Academy, Rome, 214. 

American Embassy, Rome, looa- 
ticHi of, 168; ball «t, 164-167; 
receptions at, 160. 

Anderson, Hendridc Chrisftian, in 
Rome, 10. 

Angdo^ Mkhael, work of, 22, 28, 
812; message of, 117; friendship 
with Vittoria Colonna,280 ; Long- 
fellow's poem on, 808-810; art 
of, 818, 814; quoted, 814, 816, 
817, 818, 828; gift to Vittoria 
Colonna, 818 ; meeting with Fran- 
cesco d' OUanda, 822, 828, 824; 
Walter Pater^s estimate of, 827, 

^ n i Hu nwifiti Catfaedsal, Genoa, 462> 

Aquinas, Thomas, birthplace of, 
276; tomb of, 881; monastery of, 

Aquinum, 277. 

"Arcadians," meetingB cl, 160. 

Ariosto. 806. 

Art, as leader of popular taste, 
1 15 ;. inspired by religious ideali, 
116; Renaissance in, 117; na^ 
tional importance of, 117; ig- 
nored, 118; relation to ugliness, 
110; falseness of, 121; influenoe 
on life, 122; united with religion, 

Assisi, pilgrimage to, 841, 844; 
founding of, 845; points of in- 
terest in, 845, 846; Canon Knox 
Little's description of, 848; as « 
shrine, 885. 

Assisi, Bishop of, 854, 864. 

Assisi, St Francis of, 128^ 124; 
message of, 842; birthplace of, 
845; impress of, 847; parents of, 
848, 840; early life of, 850; 
legends regarding, 851; quoted. 
852, 854, 856; supreme aim of^ 
858; Rule of, 858, 854; prayer of, 
866; character of, 857; inddenft 
in early life of, 860; first minis- 
«iy of , 868 ; first disciple of, 864 ; 
at the Portiuncula, 866; fnend- 



•hip with Cbra, M5, 867» 868; 
legends nguding* 870; death of» 
872; minuien o^ 875; tomb of, 

BAOOftf Ricfaaid, in Rome. 11, 18. 

Baia» Ml. 

Baldwin* Bcr. Dr., in Rome, 10» 

Ball, Thomas, work of, 52. 
Balzac, quoted, 120. 
Barberini, Cardinal, 72. 
Baths cl Caracalla, 180. 
Baths of Diodetian, 184. 
Bell, John, graye of, 216. 
Bembo, Caidinal, 806. 
Benedictines, 854, 865. 
Benton, Dwigfat, grare of, 221; es- 

timale of, 221. 
Bcmaidino of Siena, 882, 888; 

quoted, 888. 
Bernini, Lorenm^ work of, 22. 
Besani; Mrs. Annie, 174. 
Biblioleca Sarti, 48. 
««B]m^*' 145, 146. 
Bologna, 450. 
Bonaparte, IVinoess Christina^ 

death of, 208. 
Boni, CommeDdatofe^ opinion of, 

Bomi, Giovanni M., 408. 
Bronson, Mrs. Arthur, 409, 410. 
Brooks, Rev. Phillips, in Rome, 

15; quoted, 16, 80, 888, 804, 805. 
ftowndl, W. C, quoted, 06. 
Browning, Elizabeth B., in Romc^ 

11; quoted, 60, 114, 125, 880; 

death of, 80, 408; meeting with 

Mn. BronsoDt 410^ 411. 

Browning Palaoei 400, 410^ 411, 
412, 418. 

Browning, Robert, quoted* 8, 407, 
406; in Rome, 11, 70; in Ven- 
ice, 406; death of, 406. 

Browning, Miss Sarianms 406, 

Buono^ 286. 

Byron, Lord, in Rome^ 22; qaoled» 

Campagna, 78, 205. 
Campanile, fall of, 406. 
Campo Verano, 76. 
Campo Santo of Fisa, 450, 451, 

Campidqglio, buildings on, 25. 
Camprani, 287. 
Canova, in Rome, 7; his genius, 88; 

masterpiece of, 42; reaUsm o^ 

Capc^ Sistina, 27. 
C4» Miseno, 241. 
Capri, island of, 262; 268, 264; 

roses cif 266. 
Capuano^ Cardinal, legends of, 

Capuccini, convent of. 255. 
Carduoci, 148. 
Carter, Professor Jesse Benedict 

in Rome, 160. 
Carter, Mrs. Jesse Benedict, 84, 

87, 160. 
Casa Buonarroti, 812. 
Casino Borghese, 185. 
Castel d' Isdiia, 202, 208, 204. 
Castellammare, 250. 
Castle Gondolf o^ 286. 
Castiglione^ 806. 



CecbnTs «'La Madie,** 121. 

Cestius, Caius, tomb of, 215. 

Ghanniog, Grace EUery, 10, 91. 

Chapd of Hdy Sacrament, 202. 

du^ubiiand, in Rome, 21; 
quoted, 21. 

Gcero's Tilla, remains of, 207. 

Cimabue, 876, S78. 

Cole, Hiomas, in Rome, 9. 

Coleman, Cbaries Caiyl, home of, 

College of Cardinals^ 485. 

Cdonna, Fabrido, 290. 

Cdonna family, 285, 288, 289,806, 

Colonna palace and gardens, 181. 

Colonna, Vittoria, home of, 282; 
quoted, 288, 808; parents of, 
285;eariy chfldhood ci, 286, 288; 
horoscope of, 289; destiny of, 
290; betrothal of, 290; marriage 
of, 294, 295; early married life 
of, 295, 296; quoted, 297, 298, 
800, 808, 805, 819, 820, 821; in 
Pope Leo's court, 802; her hus- 
band's death, 802; removal of, 
804; fame of, 806; return to 
Rome of, 807; Longfellow's pic- 
tni« of , 808^ 809, 810, 825, 826, 
827; traTds of, 808, 811; her 
influence with Michael Angelo, 
818; life in Rome and Orvieto^ 
814; receives letters and sonnet 
from Michael Angelo, 817; re- 
ceives present from Michael 
Angelo, 818; arranges meeting 
of Michad Angelo and Fran- 
cesco d'Ollanda, 822, 828, 824; 
Walter Taita^B commfintii on« 

828; death of, 829; last prayer 
of, 880; burial of, 881; tomb of, 
882; bust of, 884; fame of, 885, 
886; Maigaret J. Aneston's 
poem on, 887. 

Condivi, quoted, 818. 

Contarini, Cardinal, 806. 

Corsini diapel, 152. 

Crawford, Marion, in Rome» 11, 18. 

Crawford, Tliomas, in Rome» 49; 
career of, 51; poem on, 52. 

Crow, Hon. Wayman, 61. 

Cumsean Sib^, 242. 

Dalbano, Edoardo, 286. 
Dana, Richard Henry, 219. 
Dante, quoted, 267-270; Mazzini's 

estimate of, 454. 
d' Antuni, Prindpessa, 168, 164. 
d' AvaloB, Donna Constanza, 291. 
d' Avalos, Francesco, 290, 294, 295. 
De Castro, Consul General, in 

Rome, 169. 
Decline of art, 81. 
d' Ollanda, Francesco, 822-«M. 
del Val, Cardinal Meny, 146-149, 

dd Vasto^ Mardiese, 299. 
De Monid, cfaronides of, 898. 
de StaSl, Mme., in Rome, 11, 22. 
Dietsch, C. Perdval, in Rome, 10. 
di FrancaviDa, Duchess, 291-296. 
di Mercanti, Pica, 849, 850. 
di Mercanti, Pietro Bemardooe^ 

848^ 849. 
di Pescara, Marcfaesa, 296, 296^ 

299, 800, 801, 802, 806, 811. 812; 

822» 881. 882. 885. 



di ^fCMiL Mtfdhtse. WL IMS. 

mi» aoo« SM, 80ft, SOS. aoA, ssi. 

]>a8»» Palace of, MD-MS. 
Doloe, Ludovioo, SOS. 
Don Eraamo Gsttola, £78. 
Duca de Torionk, Camly of, 005. 
Duff, lina Gardon, quoted, S74. 
Dupalgr, qvotod, 16. 
Donn, M. Gaiolus, in Rome, 100, 

Elbna, Queen, 140, 148, 179. 
Eliot, Geoiige, quoted, 252. 
Emeraon, Maigr Moody, lettera to, 

EmenoQ, fialph Waldo^ in Rome^ 

12; quoted, 85. 
EnunooB, Miss EUm, in R^mi w*^ 

EflpoaitOb 287. 
Eaekid, ICoao^ in Bome, 10; 


FAWcmr, Edgar, quoted, 417. 
Femim, Duoa and DudieHa of, 

Ferri, Sigoat Enrioo, 4S0, 442; 

quoted, 442. 
Fertuf^ quoted, 80. 
Fidd, Kate, in Rome, 12. 
noRBQe, oukure of, 4S0, 481. 
Fhi Ambrona, 822. 
FnmciaGaa, 807. 
FiaioatL viailed. 200. 

GaIiE<90> in Bome, 180, 445. 
GaBeiia Vitlorio ftnamwk, 446. 
Gaiibaldi, villa^f* 260. 

Gamett, Dr. Richard, quoted, 456. 
Genoa, 480; features, of, 451; as a 

metropolia of Bculpture, 452; 

churches of, 452; enchantment 

of, 455. 
Ghiberto, Bishop, 811. 
Gibson, John, in Rome, 10, 86; 

quoted, 84, 87, 59; grave of, 221. 
Giotto^ 876, 877, 870. 
Giovio^ Paolo, 806. 
Gladstone, in Rome, 11. 
Goethe, in Rome^ 11, 20; quoted. 

Groethe, August, grave of, 216. 
Goldoni, Carlo, centenaiy of, 418; 

memorial of, 414. 
Good Friday, service in Rome, 200, 

Greenoug^ Horatio^ in Rome, 10; 

woik of, 40; death, 50. 
Gireenough, Mrs. Horatio, 885. 
Greenou^ Richard, in Rome, 10, 

58; grave of, 217. 
GreenoQgh, Sarah B., txmb of, 

Grotto de Mafrimonia, 268. 
Grotto Ferrata, 200. 
Guili, Commendatore Conte^ 214. 
Gutheia, Gad, wosk of, 286. 

EUbiv Augustus WiUiam, grave of, 

Hawtbome, Nathaniel, quoted, 45, 

57, 67, 105. 
Healy, Mr., in Rome, 19. 
Heroulaneum, 242; excavations in, 

244; IVofessor Spinasaola on, 

242, 248; destructioD of, 244; 

Iheatn 10, 247. 



HiDaid, Geoqge fltiDmM, in 

Bme, 12; quoted, 88» U, 51, 

£80, 248. 
Hc^y Week, in Borne; flOO. 
Hosiner, Hairiet, in R<»ne, 10, ^9, 

00, 01; walk of, 02. 
Howe, Dr. Samuel 6iidlegr» in 

Rome, 12. 
Howe, Julia Waid, in Borne, 12. 
HoweDfl, William Dean, in Bome^ 

18, 410. 
Howitt, William and Maiy, gmves 

of, 210. 
Hugo, Victor, 41. 

Ibchu, 281; romantic impfesBioni 
of, 282; home of ViUoria Co- 
kmna, 282; the d' Avaks cartle 
in, 201 ; aa an yiM*l* ftpffd ialand^, 
200; Vittoria's lebim to, 280, 

Italy, land of romance and song; 
0; Maitrini's opinion of, 05; true 
life of, 428; aa a youthful oonn- 
tiy, 424; relation with United 
States, 425; tiETeller in, 425; 
picture of idyllic days in, 427; 
apptoadi to, 420; cities of, 420, 
480; in the makiiig, 481 ; politka 
ot, 482; SodaliBtic upnaiqg in, 
488; tazatioD in, 480-488; rail- 
roads in, 488, 440; goveroment 
of, 440, 441; future of, 444, 
457; lakes of, 449; oontempomy 
literature of, 450. 

Jameb, Heniy, in Bome^ 11, 18. 
Jameson, Mn., in Borne; 07; 

qiMle4» IM. 

quoted, 410, 42L 
Juvenal, birthplace of, 277. 

Kbatb, in Borne, 11, 182; moBO* 

rial, 188; grave of, 210. 
Kemble, Adelaide, in Bome, 08. 
Kemble, Fanny, in Bomei 08. 
Keynote of life, 859. 
Khayyam, Omar, quoted, 1, 94. 

Lacob Avemus, 240. 

TAnriani, Ftofessor, lectorea faj, 

188, 189; opinion of, 244, 888. 
Y^eaning Tower of Pisa, 450. 
Libraries of Borne, 214, 228. 
Lister, Mrs., in Borne, 172. 
Liszt, Abb^ in Borne, 18, 19. 
Little, Canon Knox, quoted, 847, 

848, 870, 877, 880. 
Lodge, Sir Oliver, quoted, ISO. 
Longfellow, Heniy Wadsworth, la 

Borne, 12; quoted, 10, 17, 125, 

258, 274, 279, 281. 808, 800, 

810, 825, 827, 887. 
Longfellow, Bev. Samuel, quoted, 

Lowell, James Bunsell, in Borneo 

Ludoviai coUecticm, 185. 
Luther, in Borne, 80; ascent of the 

Scala Santa, 150. 

MABOHERrrA, Queen Mother, 140^ 
141; palace of, 142; quoted, 148; 
relations with artists, 144; al 
requiem mass, 179. 

Marino^ 280, 287. 

Mazani, 191» 192; quoted, 04, 4«^ 



428, 4M, 446; works of, 190, 
191; crtiiiiate of, 191; tomb of, 
Mead, Laridn G., in Rome, 10; 
work of, 58. 

Museum of Rome, 189. 

Meredith, Owen, quoted, 2. 

Metella, Cecilia, tomb of, 145. 

Milan, actiyily of, 480, 447; struc- 
tures of, 448; Ambrosian libraiy 
of, 449; as scientific centre, 450. 

Mills, Claik, in Rome, 10. 

Milton, in Rome, 11, 19. 

Misenus, burial place of, 841. 

Monte Aquino, 870. 

Monte Caixo^ 877. 

Monte Cassino^ 804. 

Mcmte Catria, 848. 

Monte Mario, £1, 188. 

Mcmte Pindo, 188. 

Monte San Mano, 804. 

Moidli, Domenicob work of, 884, 

MouHon, Louise Chandler, in 
Rome, 18; quoted, 18, 14» 95, 
867, 840. 

Myers, Flederidk W. H., memorial 
tablet tOb 880. 

Naplib» described, 887-881; Uni- 
▼ersity of, 888; Museum, 888; 
natural attractions of, 887; hotels 
of, 888; Bay of, 865. 

Nardi, Monsignore, in Rome, 18. 

Nero's tomb, 78, 80. 

Nisida, island of, 840. 

Norton, Chalks Eliot, quoted, 867. 

Qbelbk in FkiM dd Popolo, 77. 

Oldest art sciiool, 44. 
Oliphant, Mrs., quoted, 857, 868. 
Onrieto, 814. 
Ossi, RofesBor DaH, opinioo o^ 

Ozenham, Rev. Dr. and Mrs. 

Nutoombe, in Rome, 171. 

PiBannf, 860, 861. 
Page de Conti, 887. 
Page, William, in Rome^ 66. 
Palatine Hill, 18, 118. 
Palaoo Baifoerini, 78, 90. 
Palasso Bemini, 88. 
PalazBO Bonaparte, 808. 
PalazBO Brandolin-Rota, 400. 
Palasso Cesaiini, 814, 889. 
PalazBO del Drago, 168, 164. 
Palasso di Capodimonte, 888. 
Palasso di Donna Ana, 889. 
Palasso Margherita, 148. 
Palasso Munidpio, 884. 
PalazBO Quirinale, 148, 148, 488. 
PalasKO Rezzonioo, 406. 
Palaoo Senni, 178. 
PalazBO Tamagno, 104. 
PalasKO Vaticano, 87. 
Pantheon, 177; ceremonies at, 179. 
Papal supremacy, 488. 
Parsons, Thomas William, quoted, 

Fkter, Walter, quoted, 887, 888. 
Perugia, town of, 381-884. 
Perugino^ 884. 
Fetraica, 858, 859, 400. 
Fhlegman Plain, 840. 
Piazza Barberini, 18. 
Piazza del Popolo, 76, 80, 184. 
Fiazu di Spagna, 70^ 188, 146. 



Fiama di TVimtk, 188. 

Piazza Sac Giovanni, 151. 

Fietro da Cortona, w<^ of, 194. 

Pisa, architectural monuments of, 

Pistolesi, quoted, 48. 

Fliny, the Younger, quoted, S44. 

Foe, quoted, 186. 

Fompeii, 248, 245, 248. 

Fope Adrian, 802. 

Fope Gement XII, tomb ol, 152. 

Fope Julius n, 28, 27, 28. 

Fope Leo XII, 802. 

Fope Leo Xm, tomb of, 154. 

Pope Paschal, dream of, 157. 

Pope Paul m, 818. 

Fope Ffo Nono, 64, 75. 

Pope Pius X, 145, 147; "passage" 
of, 196^ 197; ceremonial recep- 
tions of, 146; residence of, 482; 
character of, 484; dream of, 

Pcnrtiuncula, 865, 866. 

Posilipo, 289. 

Powers, Hiram, in Rome, 10; 
America's first sculptor, 49; 
work, 50. 


IVeston, Maigazet J., quoted, 280, 

QnASBB Fontanel Via delle, 72. 

Raphael, work of, 22, 46, 47, 79; 
genius of, 26; masterpieces of, 
27; Franklin Simmons, (pinion 
of, 29; inspiration of, 80; de- 
dine of art after, 81. 

RaTsUo, Cathedral at, 260. 

Ravenna, battk of, 296. 
Read, Tliomas Buchanan, 

Rome, 67. 


of, 118. 

Regma Madn, 140, 142. 

Rqgio Palaaso del Quirinale, 148, 

Reid, Hon. Whitelaw, 105. 

Reinhart, William, in Rome, 10. 

Religion united with art, 128. 

Renaissance in Italy, 117. 

Richmond, Celia, 841. 

Rocca di Papa, 287. 

Rogers, Randolph, in Rome, 10; 
eariy death of, 5Si. 

Roman environment, 98. 

Rome, features of, 1; as artistic 
centre, 6, 10, 114; under Pontifi- 
cal r^ime, 8; Longfellow's love 
for, 16; Goethe's impressions of, 
20; work of Michael Angelo and 
Raphael in, 22; oldest art school 
of, 44; latter-day artists in, 49; 
Brownings in, 67; social life 
in, 118, 127; new bridge of, 
128; in May, 129; in winter, 
129, 180; in spring, 180, 182; 
festas in, 186; discussed by I^ 
fessor I.Annani, 188; society in, 
140, 141, 170; two courts of, 142; 
modem features of, 145; en- 
rhanting views in, 151; poetic 
symbolism in, 158^160; of the 
present day, breakfast-table talk 
in, 162; American Embassy in, 
168; elevator service in, 164; 
American consulate in, 169; de- 
lightful hostesses in, 171, 172; 
attitude toward modem tfaou^^ 



in, 175; Theosopliical Society 
of, ITS, 174; demand for apart- 
ments in, 175; nghi^eeing in, 
18S ; great palaces in, 187 ; fiimous 
drive of, 188; birthday oelebra^ 
tions of, 189; Republic of, 190; 
rich years to artists in, 192, 
193; Papal ceremonies in, 195; 
curious spectacle in, 196; Holy 
Week in, 200; Good Friday 
service in, 200, 201; motoring 
from, 204, 205; outlying towns 
of, 207; American Academy in, 
214; Ubraries of, 214; Protest- 
ant cemeteiy of, 215; literature 
of, 228; modem spirit in, 428. 

Rosa, Salvator, 284. 

Rosenkrans, Baroness, 179. 

Rota, 829. 

Ruskin. in Rome, 12; quoted, 898. 

Sabatieb, Paul, quoted, 882, 885. 

Sallust, Gardens of, 140. 

Salvatico, quoted, 401. 

San Agostino, church of, 198. 

San Caterina di Viterbo^ 814. 

San Francesco, church of, 845. 

San Giovanni, 158. 

San Marco, 894. 

San Maria della Pace, 27. 

San Maria dei Frari, 405. 

San Silvestre, 82. 

Sansovino, Jacob, work of, 899. 

Santa Anna, convent of, 814. 

Santa Chiara (Gara), 885; takes 
vows, 868, 867; founds convent, 
888; family history of, 868; 
friendship with St Francis of 
Assiai, 868; at death of Franda, 

872; personality of, 879; 

vation of body of, 874. 
Santa Domenica MaggMire, cfatt*di 

of, 808, 881, 888. 
Santa Maria D^li Angeli, 846^ 

865, 880. 
Santa Maria del Popolo^ 78-80l 
Santa Maria della Salute, 405. 
Santa Monica, txnnb of, 199. 
Scala di Spagna, 72. 
Scala Santa, 155; Luthet^s aacenl 

of, 156. 
Sdfi, Count Favorini, 888. 
Scott, Sir Walter, in Rome^ 20. 
Sejanufl^ faU of, 268. 
Sermoneta, Duke of, in Rome, 18. 
Severn, Joseph, grave of, 210. 
Shdl^, in Rome, 22; memorial, 

188; quoted, 215; grave of, 218. 
Simmons, F^ranklin, in Rome, K), 

15, 91, 98; quoted, 29; worics of, 

98-112; eariy life, 100; degrees 

conferred upon, 108; marriage 

of, 108; latest suceesi of, 107; 

studios of, 112; realiBm of, 119; 

beautiful creation of, 121; givve 

of his wife, 217. 
Simmons, Mrs. Franklai, in Romc^ 

104; desth of, 112; estoBite of, 

112; grave of, 218. 
Sindoni, TuriUo, 144. 
Sistine Chapel, art in, 177. 
Sorrento, 251, 252. 
Spearman, Frank HamlllQab m 

Rome, 187; work of, 168. 
Spinazzola, Professor, quoted, 242; 

St Ambrosio, cfaurdi of, 448. 
St Andrew, 250. 



St Benedict, work of, ftfO, 271; 
tomb of, 272; cliapd of, 850. 

St Damian, cfaapd of, 856. 

St Gaudens, Augustus, in Rome, 

St Gregory, feast of, 180. 

St Maria deOa Portiuncula, 851. 

St Mark's, Venice, 896, 807, 404. 

St Mark, tomb of, 807; legend 
regarding, 807. 

St Paolo d' Orvieto, 814. 

Stebbins, Emma, in Rame, 58. 

Stetson, Charles Walter, in Rome, 
10,01; work of, 118. 

Stetson, Mrs. Charles Walter, in 
Rome, 11; quoted, 426. 

StiDman, Mr., quoted, 80. 

Story, Julian, in Rome, 91; studio 
of, 07. 

Story, Waldo, in Rome, 01; studio 
of, 07; works of, 08. 

Story, William Wetmore, in Rome, 
10; first visit to Italy of, 62; in 
Florence, 66; quoted, 70, 80, 89, 
00, 286; in Palazzo Barberini, 
Rome, 71 ; works of, 81-86; esti- 
mate of, 82-00; literary work of, 
00; grave of, 217. 

Stowe, Harriet Beecher, in Rome, 

Strada Nuova di Posilipo, 280. 

Symonds, John Addington, grave 
of, 220; estimate of, 220; quoted, 
261, 264, 815, 816. 

Tabbo, 252, 258, 885. 
Teimyson's choice of pictures in 

Venioe, 805. 
Tliackeray, in Rome, 60. 

Toeocritus, quoted, 88. 
Theosophical Socie^ of Boom^ 

Thomas, Eifith, quoted, 82. 
Thompson, liaunt, in Blome, 10. 
Thorwaldsen, in Rome, 7, 10; 

quoted, 85; realism of, 110. 
Tiberius, summer palace of, fOt; 

baths of, 268. . 
TUton, J. Rdlm, m Rome, 10; 

grave of, 210. 
Titian, tomb of, 405. 
Torfonia, Duca and Dudiessa q( 

Trelawn^, grave of, 216. 
Trinitk di Monti, diurdi of. 188. 
Tusculum, 207. 

Umbestto, Eiiig, 142. 
Umbrians, 845. 

Vandebltr, in Rome, 19. 
Vaughan, Monsignor, 181. 
Vatican, galleries of, 112. 
Vatican palace, 106, 108. 
Vedder, Anita, in Rome, 171. 
Vedder, Elihu, in Rome, 10; ait 

of, 01-05; appreciation of, 06; 

works of, 06, 07; country house 

of, 262. 
Vedder, Mrs. Elihu, in Rome^ 

Venice, first glimpses of, 880; 

Grand Canal of, 800; in June, 

801; color and loveliness of, 802; 

art of, 805, 806; origin of, 808; 

first Doge of, 800; Renaissance 

architecture in, 800; Doge's